


A Myriad of Color

by benitato



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: AU where everything is black and white until you touch your soulmate, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to ?, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining! Killugon, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, i make up some of these tags as i go i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benitato/pseuds/benitato
Summary: Everything is monochromatic in Gon’s world until he meets Killua, who doesn’t seem to realize how starved he is of a life with color. This only makes Gon more determined to show him how much there is to see besides gray— if only Killua would stop refusing to touch him.Killua doesn’t mind a world of shadows; it’s terribly convenient. He’s not about to let one happy-go-lucky heathen of a soulmate change that, fate be damned. And no, he doesn’t particularly care that said soulmate is a bit on the attractive side, or that he keeps nudging closer and offers Killua chocolate.Nope. Not at all.





	1. Monochrome

**Author's Note:**

> _”AU where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate.”_
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> This prompt caught my eye and, after a few cups of coffee and sad-ass music, this sorta wrote itself. I tweaked it a bit so that in order for people to see color, they would have to physically come in contact with their respective soulmates. 
> 
> Equation: more touches = more colors
> 
> (This was originally supposed to be a part of my collection of Killugon oneshots lol, but hey, it’s summer— I’ve got time. And a lot of pent up emotions about the 2011 HxH anime.)

 

_Blue._

 

 

“It’s the color of the sky. At least, that’s what I remember,” Mito tells Gon as she ruffles his disastrously messy hair, teased and spiked up even further by the cliff side winds blowing in from the open window and twisting the curtains in a dance.

 

“That’s what my book says!” Gon’s eyes widen as he realizes that the author, whoever they were, must’ve experienced and seen the world as Mito did— same colors through different eyes.

  
“Then my memory must be better than I thought it was,” Mito laughs gently, almost to herself. She feels a tug on her dress and looks away from the window, smiling questioningly at Gon’s fingers on the hem of her sleeve.

  
“The lake is blue, too. My book says so. And the ocean.“ Gon points to intricately drawn illustrations of the bodies of water on his book. “What’s the color blue like?” He looks up at his aunt as the question catches her off guard.

  
“I— well— I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mito’s smile grows sadder, Gon notices. He’s pointed this out quite a few times already— whenever they would talk about the world in color, Mito’s expression turns into a cross of fondness and a deep, deep sadness. Mito doesn’t appreciate him calling it out, though. Once, Gon _swears_ he saw a tear dropping silently from one corner of her eye, though it was hard to tell because of the shadows— the only hues he sees besides light. Gon suspects the sadness is caused by the fact that Mito had been able to see a myriad of colors a long time ago, but now her sight has reverted to a world of blacks and whites, not unlike his. He’d heard about what had happened to her soulmate, would sometimes hear the neighbors saying—

 

  
“Terrible, terrible thing that war. Them took our boys. Poor Lucia an’ her son.” This would be accompanied by a _tsk!_ sound.

 

  
“Poor Mito, you mean,” the other elderly woman would say in a hushed voice. She had a big hat that Gon loved to look at. “Heard they’s seen rainbows first time they touched!” A few gasps and murmurs.

 

  
“Jiro was a good boy.” Sighs of agreement would ensue, and then after a few minutes of absolute silence, the conversation was back to whether this week’s bingo night was on Tuesday or Thursday.

 

  
Gon knows Mito hears them on occasion. It’s already been a decade since the war, and her supposed soulmate, Jiro, hasn’t returned. A bombing had taken place in the area where his squadron was stationed, and not even a finger was left to bury. Mito knows he’s not coming back home, though—had known it the day her vision suddenly plunged into grayscale and her world into a state of numbness. Friends and various family members suggested kindly that she travel around, maybe find some new people, but Mito adamantly refused. Not long after, Ging Freecss came to visit, only to leave his child in her then-unwilling, trembling hands. It turned out that taking care of her cousin’s only son provided to be the best form of distraction, and since then Mito has been smiling more often, or so the neighbors say to Gon. But when Gon sees his aunt absently running her fingers over the pages of his picture book, he wonders if she ever really recovered.

  
He doesn’t enjoy seeing Mito sad, but he can’t help but want to hear more about the world destined for himself someday. He stares at Mito, begging, until she sighs and relents. She looks out of the window once more as if she were looking for something, smoothing down the rumpled front of her apron. Her voice is quiet and hesitant when she finally speaks.

 

  
“Blue is— is—“ Mito clears her throat a few times, as if trying to dislodge the words stuck there, “Gon, it’s— my sweet, it’s the smell of the sea that blows through our moor, see?” They both take a deep breath, as if on cue. Gon thinks he tastes the salt.

 

  
“Blue is sometimes angry and violent, like the waves crashing on the shore, there— look.” Mito nods at the seemingly endless, rippling rolls of water just outside the window. Gon obediently gawks at the sight, admiring how the light of the sun lent a sharp contrast to the dark, shifting black of the waves, and tries hard to picture what that shade of blue would look like.

 

  
“Mostly, it’s calm— like that little stream you love splashing in, and then come home dripping inside the house,” Mito pokes Gon playfully in the side, inducing laughs from both of them. “It’s also the color of your pillowcase, have I told you that?” She points to the bed, and Gon shakes his head. _That’s a new one,_ he thinks. He looks at her and his eyes widen. “Mito-san, don’t cry.”

 

  
Mito puts a hand to her face and seems surprised when she touches the wetness trailing down her cheek. “Oh,” she stares at her fingers, “I’m sorry.” She laughs and wipes discreetly at her eyes, an action that tugged on Gon’s heartstrings.

  
“Well, that’s that.” Mito purses her lips and takes a shaky breath. She stares at Gon for a few seconds before reaching out to smooth his hair, shaking her head as it immediately springs back into place. “What am I going to do with you, Gon?” She sighs and moves away. “Next you’ll be asking me about red.”

  
“Can I?” Gon excitedly turns in his chair as Mito unhurriedly makes her way out the room, picking up books and toys and pillows.

  
“Maybe.” A smile plays on the corners of her lips, and Gon knows he’ll get an answer later. Another, more pressing question itches his mind, and he blurts it out unthinkingly—

 

  
“Mito-san? What— What color are your eyes?”

 

  
Mito stops adjusting the bed covers and turns around. Her dark eyes are not wet this time, but they shine with affection and surprise. Her smile is wider— _happy_. “Why, I think that’s the first time you’ve asked me that. Why do you want to know?”

 

  
“Because I hope mine look like yours.” Gon’s blunt answer makes Mito’s mouth hang open slightly, and she puts a hand to her chest. A soft, strange look crosses her face.

 

  
“Oh, Gon.” She tilts her head with a smile. “Our eyes look exactly alike. Even your disappointment of a father has the same eyes. _Tch,_ I hope only eye color runs in the family, and not the tendency to just up and dust.” Mito rolls her eyes and fluffs the pillow one last time.

 

 

Gon laughs in delight. “What color?”

 

  
Mito pauses to think about this, one hand on the doorknob. “If I remember correctly, they’re this particular shade of—“

 


	2. A World In Spectrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua’s mental checklist: 
> 
> 1\. Blend in.  
> 2\. Don’t do anything that you don’t have to.  
> 3\. If you are required to do something, do it as quickly as possible.
> 
> It’s the first day of classes. What could go wrong? 
> 
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> 
> A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited about this chapter that I immediately had to post it. But on average, I’ll probs be posting a chapter every one or two weeks.

_  
“—Brown, Master Killua. Like the pithy dust of the earth, and the ground you stand upon.”_

_  
The child’s eyes widen, and the young Zoldyck reaches down a hand to pat the hard-packed dirt beneath his sneakers. Gotoh makes a mental note to plant fast-growing grass in that area; the Zoldyck family took pride in their well-maintained maze of a garden._

_  
“How come you know so much about colors?” Killua demands, one chubby hand waving a half-finished chocolate bar in the air._

_  
“It is one of the requirements, young Master, to be knowledgeable in general, in order to take care of you and your siblings. We are trained to associate objects with certain hues and shades.” The statement sounds so professional that Killua actually looks up in awe at the proud silhouette Gotoh cuts against the harsh white of the sun._

_  
“So you don’t have a soulmate?” Killua asks bluntly. The butler looks down in surprise but immediately composes himself— with Killua being the most inquisitive of the five siblings, he should’ve known that the young Master would’ve read up on the topic sooner or later._

_  
“Maybe I do, but finding them is not my priority right now,” Gotoh answers simply._

_  
Killua furrows his brow, apparently confused. “Isn’t finding your soulmate supposed to make you happy? Don’t you want to be happy, Gotoh?”_

_  
“My satisfaction, Master Killua, comes from serving you and your family.” Gotoh puts a hand over his heart and bows out of instinct._

_“That doesn’t sound fun,” Killua says dubiously._

_“I assure you it is,” is Gotoh’s faithful reply._

_“Who could possibly get a kick out of serving my crazy family?” Killua laughs derisively._

_  
It unsettles Gotoh a bit whenever the young Zoldyck talks like this. Even at eight years of age, Killua had a look about him, a certain maturity in his eyes that told of wisdom and intuition way beyond his years. His next sentence surprises Gotoh even more._

_  
“Gotoh— I order you to find your soulmate, and be happy, and— and see more colors.” Killua’s haughty stare belies the purpose of his statement, even though he isn’t aware of it. “You have to do what I say, right?”_

_  
Yet the way the command is stated does not hide the kindness in the child’s intentions, and the butler is aware of this._

_  
He kneels down in front of Killua on one knee respectfully, professional in his manners but a fondness is still there. Gotoh allows a small smile to cross his face, adjusting his glasses. “Watching you and your siblings grow up to be fine people and finer additions to the Zoldyck family is what makes me happy, young Master. Your parents are already proud of your progress in your studies and training. They say you will be a fine representative of the family someday.”_

_  
“But I don’t wanna be known like that!” Killua protests. “I’m not my— my name. I don’t want people to think they know me just because they know my last name is Zoldyck.”_

_  
Gotoh knows he treads on dangerous waters with what he is about to say, so he lowers his voice. “Young Master, you do not have to let your family name define you.” Killua tilts his head curiously. Gotoh continues._

_  
“Instead, you may create your own definition of the Zoldyck name through your actions, and disprove other people’s assumptions.”_

_  
Killua’s eyes widen in understanding. “I can do that?”_

_  
“If you wish.” Gotoh smiles, and hesitantly reaches out to pat Killua’s blindingly light mess of hair. The child doesn’t seem to mind, biting into his candy bar almost absently. Killua’s curls look out of place among the dark, lustrous locks of his siblings— hair so light, it rivals the white-hot sun. Killua Zoldyck resembles his father and his grandfather at most. With his pallor only emphasized by the striking hue of his hair, one would assume that Killua was sickly; but Gotoh knows better. He’d seen the young Master at training, after all— judo-flipping a man twice his weight with apparent ease, advancing to a black belt, and performing various other feats astounding for a child his age._

_  
Killua would bring about a new stigma whenever the Zoldyck name is uttered, Gotoh is sure of that much._

_  
“Tell me what color my Chocorobo is.” Killua pulled on the hem of his butler’s sleeve. Gotoh almost smiles again._

_  
“It is brown, if I am not mistaken, young Master. Chocolates are almost always brown.”_

_“Eh— like the ground?” Killua scrunches his nose._

_“Indeed.”_

_“I don’t think I like brown very much, then. But chocolate is delicious.” Killua emphasizes his point by biting into the bar. Soft, sweet, faintly bitter—_

“Excuse me, watch out!”

  
A voice shakes Killua out from his reverie and he steps aside in time to avoid the speeding cyclist going the opposite direction. He looks up from the pedestrian lane and at the sign that still read **‘STOP’**. (In lieu of colors, the stoplights had words.)

  
“Follow the rules, jackass!” Killua yells irritably at the receding figure on the bicycle. Muttering choice profanity, he shoves his hands back in their respective pockets. Almost getting hit by a dumb cyclist on the first day of junior high is not on his checklist.

  
It was already an achievement to convince his parents to let him come to school without Gotoh or the other butlers trailing him, but after fifteen minutes of walking uphill and wondering whether he’d taken the right road, he now sees the appeal of arriving in the family luxury car. He would’ve conceded to do so, actually, were the Zoldyck seal — a Z with markings designed to look like a lightning bolt — not emblazoned bright as day on both sides of the car doors.

  
He‘s already receiving enough stares as it is from people in school uniforms similar to his. _It’s definitely the hair,_ Killua thinks. He knows it’s white— his parents have informed him of that. Blue eyes, too. Incidentally, he and his father and grandfather are the only ones in the Zoldyck family with peculiarly colored hair (Killua doesn’t even count it that way— quite the opposite, he thinks. They’re white-haired, so technically they don’t have any color). Not that Killua would forget, but it also says so on his birth certificate. Every person has one, describing their physical appearance for future reference.

  
He could dye his hair, but he really couldn’t give a shit. The ogling just makes him uncomfortable. He’s gotten used to it a bit, though; dozens of new schools over the years tend to prepare oneself for the barrage of nosy questions, aggressive jackasses begging for fights, and other components necessary to traumatize your average child growing up. But being trained in self-defense since practically birth and having been taught to engage in diplomatic conversations in order to avoid physical confrontations as much as possible have prevented Killua from being your average child growing up.

  
Whispered sounds on the other side of the road make him look over there curiously. A group of girls abruptly turn away, cheeks growing dark, and the murmurs stop. Judging by their uniforms, they go to the same school he’s headed for, which make him just a little bit relieved; he wasn’t lost, after all.

  
Still, it‘s nearly a twenty minute walk from their estate to the campus— scratch that, he hasn’t even _sighted_ the building yet. Of all the places his parents could’ve chosen to finally settle down in, they just had to pick an island in the middle of nowhere, with only the stretch of endless sea surrounding them. A shame, too; he rather likes traveling, the feeling of not being grounded to anything and anywhere. He doesn’t particularly care that everywhere he’s been to and everywhere he goes is devoid of color— its presence is hardly necessary in order to enjoy things like eating, reading, and video gaming. Mostly the food.

  
Killua prefers his cities bustling and noisy; the perfect environment in which to slip in and out as he pleases, but this one is a bit on the rural side— quiet, calm, placid. Almost as if the island were dreaming.

  
After a few more minutes, Killua finally sees the entrance — grand yet worn-out looking gates — and sighs in relief. He’s already thinking of the offer to be driven to school by Gotoh next time. He stands still for a moment, watching students flood in through the gates and into the rustic building surprisingly well-kept in its old age. It is even bigger than most of the school buildings Killua had entered in the past. He takes a deep breath and clenches his hands briefly into fists, still jammed in their pockets.

  
The one thing that he never could seem to get out his system, no matter how many schools he’d gone to, were the first-day nerves, bringing in with them the _what-ifs._

  
Actually, only one.

 

The chances of accidentally finding his soulmate are slim, actually, but Killua would rather be prepared. He has a contingency plan, of course: walk away and pretend nothing had happened. Or slip into a nearby crowd. It’s not the greatest plan, but he’s had plenty of practice. It’s not even that he can’t explain it— he knows why he doesn’t want to run into his soulmate. He has reasons. A lot, actually.

  
One of which is that he doesn’t want to be burdened with the expectation to end up with that person. What if they were an asshole? What if they hated each other? What if it were a forty-year old woman? (Killua has heard rumors.)

  
Another is the fact that he doesn’t want to be intentionally dependent on a living, breathing human being.

  
Lastly, and perhaps his most valid reason— Killua doesn’t mind a world of shadows; it’s terribly convenient. He’s pretty much learned to maneuver his way around the black and white streets and avenues. He doesn’t see the necessity of colors when he can just associate them with their respective objects (he forgets where he’d heard that before). Besides, the process of accumulating colors for one’s sight usually takes a long, arduous process of physical contact with a soulmate. Killua would rather do a lot of things than touching some stranger just to improve his vision.

  
In order to calm down, he goes through his mental checklist for the academic year, as he usually does.

  
1\. Blend in.  
2\. Don’t do anything that you don’t have to.  
3\. If you are required to do something, do it as quickly as possible.

  
Satisfied with his progress so far, Killua tucks his chin in, shoves his hands even further in his pockets, and resigns himself to a normal, ordinary life.

  
He has barely taken one step when he feels something barreling against him.

 

 

_Hard._

 

 

The force of it has him breathless and his chest _hurts_ but somehow, he’s managed to send the person on their back with a sweeping kick to the back of their knees. A fight before the bell had even rung? Now, _this_ was a first.

  
Killua sends a silent _thank you_ to his years of self-defense training in various martial arts— the only thing keeping him upright after being hit with what felt like a car. A few people had already gathered around in a wide, scattered radius.

  
There goes the first thing on his checklist.

  
Surprisingly, the person is already starting to get up— this is also a first. Not many hot-headed, fist-fight-hungry dumbasses could take one of Killua’s hits and still be conscious. Killua is kind of relieved that it’s not a girl; he’d acted without thinking and just lashed out on impulse. Groaning, the boy rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand as he attempts to stand up. He looks to be around Killua’s age, and appears to be well-built, his uniform half-buttoned open and revealing a white shirt that fit snugly around his muscular yet lean form.

  
“Had enough, jackass?” Killua sneers and moves into an offensive stance. So it surprises him when the boy says—

  
“Hey, I know you! Just gimme a sec.” He continues to rub at his eyes. _Probably trying get the dirt out,_ Killua thinks a bit guiltily. But the boy still didn’t make sense.

  
“If you know me, then why would you try to hit me?” Killua crosses his arms in front of his chest.

  
“That’s the thing,” the boy laughs, finally taking out a handkerchief and wiping at his face, “I didn’t. I was in such a hurry after parking my bicycle, so I tried to run all the way to class. Sorry for hitting you, by the way.”

  
The fight slowly drains out of Killua. Some of the people in the circle have dispersed. Others come up to the guy in front of him and clap him on the back. “You alright, Freecss?” Killua hears one of them say. _Freecss?_ He couldn’t possibly be hearing that right. That doesn’t even sound like a name. Maybe a title? But then again, who is Killua to speak with a name like Zoldyck?

  
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll head to class in a moment.” Freecss waves them off in a good-natured manner.

  
He finally seems to be finished cleaning up. There’s a split second when Killua’s not sure whether to just leave the guy or apologize, but he realizes he doesn’t really want to be caught fighting again if he doesn’t resolve this now. In order to be done with it as quickly as possible, Killua steps forward, rubbing at the back of his neck.

  
“Look, I— I’m sorry.” Killua coughs awkwardly. “Thought you were picking a fight.”

 

“Nah, it’s my fault— wasn’t looking. Didn’t see you.”

 

Killua is about to take this as an invitation to part ways, and has actually turned away, when something nags at the back of his mind. Despite his instincts, he slowly looks back.

 

“Wait,” Killua frowns, stepping back to his place, “If you didn’t see me, then how’d you know it was me?”

 

“Ah,” Freecss grins, rummaging around in his bag for something. “I know your voice. Yelled some very unpleasant things earlier this morning. Which I deserved.” Killua lets this sink in for a moment when he suddenly remembers.

 

_Son of a—_

 

“You’re the cyclist that ran a stop sign. It was _my_ way of right, you know.” Killua steps closer and prods a finger threateningly into the guy’s chest.

  
“I told you I was sorry, didn’t I?” He laughs, a rumbling kind of laughter that Killua feels all the way in his bones. He finally looks directly at Killua, and holds out a hand.

 

 

“I’m Gon, by the way. Gon Fr—“

 

 

He stops.

 

 

Killua freezes.

 

 

The bell rings, but neither of them move. They stand as still as statues in front of the looming building.

 

 

_God damn him. God-fucking-damn him._ Killua hadn’t bothered to look at the guy’s face, and _god damn it all_ does he regret it. They seem to be about the same height, though Killua can’t tell because of their proximity. He thinks he’s a bit taller. The guy’s— _Gon’s_ — features are pleasant enough. He doesn’t care to note that Gon has freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose, or that he has a perfect set of blindingly white teeth. Or that Gon is just attractive, in general.

  
Nope. Killua certainly doesn’t take note of all that. Because he couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at Gon’s eyes and trying to figure out what color they were.

 

_Oh— they’re not black,_ is the first thing to cross Killua’s mind. _Nor white, for that matter. They look terribly warm, like— like—_

 

 

_— Like the pithy dust of the earth, and the ground you stand upon_.

 

 

“Your— your eyes. I—“ Gon blinks rapidly, lowering his hand and faltering in his words. He has apparently lost the ability to formulate coherent sentences. “Your eyes,” Gon begins agains, “They’re—“

 

 

— _sometimes angry and violent, like the waves crashing on the shore, there— look._

 

 

“Hey.” Gon rasps hesitantly and clears his throat. “Hey, uh.”

  
Killua hears himself make an incoherent noise in response. They’re the last ones outside on the grounds. The school almost looks deserted like this.

 

Gon stares straight into his eyes, and Killua feels something splintering his chest. He steps closer, still searching Killua’s face as if trying to find the answers there. And when Gon speaks this time, there is no trace of hesitation— only a burning curiosity waiting to be satiated.

 

 

“Your eyes are blue, aren’t they?” Gon tilts head.

 

 

Somehow, Killua knows that _he_ _knows_ the answer to that.

 

 

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestions and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated!


	3. Your Eyes Fit The Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation that ensues after their meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _know_ I said one week, but having this whole universe in my head is just too exciting, and I had to write it down immediately. Of course, immediate writing leads to immediate posting. 
> 
> For those reading my other fic, [where Gon ended and Killua began](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416603/chapters/30742680), sorry I haven’t been updating much— kinda hard to balance two fics at once. I’ll post soon, though, count on it!

 

 

All Gon could think about is how _embarrassing_ it would be if the pale boy’s eyes weren’t blue.

  
But there’s no denying the fact that whatever color those eyes are, they definitely aren’t grayscale.

  
He’s tried so hard to imagine what a world with color in it would be like, physically impossible though it may be. Yet nothing, not even all the imagining and Mito’s stories, could have led him to guess what colors look like. At least, not the color of the boy’s eyes in front of him.

  
Slanted, wary, and cat-like, the pale boy’s eyes are almost indescribable— they look like they’d be cold to the touch, cool and calculating, but Gon sees a warmth there that has nothing to do with color. _Beautiful_ , Gon thinks, because that’s the first word that came into his mind.

 

  
The rest of the pale boy’s features aren’t bad, either. Which is quite an understatement, Gon admits.

 

  
White (or at least, Gon thinks it is— it’s the lightest shade he’s ever seen) tufts of hair spill over his forehead, and grow out in places indiscriminately, producing a messy, dandelion-like effect on his head. It suits him, somehow. He is at least an inch taller, Gon notes reluctantly. His pallor makes him look almost sickly, makes Gon wonder if he’d ever seen the sun— but the precise way he’d sent Gon sprawled on the ground earlier counters that. Slender, lithe, and has moved into a defensive stance which Gon guesses is out of instinct.

 

  
He is all shadows and sharp angles, this boy. Except, of course, for his eyes.

 

  
“So?” Gon dares to move even closer, only a foot apart. “Are they blue?” The pale boy answers with a glare that barely hides his alarm, uncertainty, and curiosity.

 

  
“I don’t have to answer to you,” the boy seethes. He holds his chin up defiantly.

 

  
“Yeah, I know— but I can promise you something in return.” Gon grins. If his suspicions are correct, he’ll have an answer, whether the pale boy wants it or not.

 

  
“What could you possibly have to offer?” The pale boy scoffs lightly, but a curious gleam in his inscrutable eyes encourages Gon even further.

 

  
“Well, for one,” Gon starts, “I can show you the way to class. I know you’re new— we hardly get any transferees around here.”

 

  
“Do I look like a child to you, Freecss?” But the way the pale boy looks uncertainly at the large building almost makes Gon laugh. Hearing his name spoken by this strange, ethereal-looking person stirs something foreign in Gon’s chest.

 

  
“Alright, I’ll throw that into the bargain anyway,” Gon concedes. “You look like you need it.” He holds up a hand to stop the pale boy as he opens his mouth, possibly to spout more profanity-ridden protests. Gon is about to offer his second option when he stops and thinks for a moment. He stares at the boy in front of him.

 

  
“What?” The pale boy barks.

 

  
“Hey,” Gon looks at him intently. “If I tell you what color my eyes are, will you tell me your name?”

 

  
The pale boy sputters and his face grows darker. Gon absently wonders how red looks like, the flush spreading from the pale boy’s neck up to his ears. He vaguely remembers Mito saying that the blood rushing to the face is reminiscent of the way the sun creeps up in the late dawn sky— tinging clouds with the slightest bit of pink at first, and then floods the entire horizon with warmth and red. “Wh— Just _what_ makes you think I want to know, idiot?”

 

  
“Because,” Gon leans in, “You’ve been staring since awhile ago.” The way the pale boy glances down at his feet confirm Gon’s suspicions.

 

  
“I know you see the color, and you wanna know if you’ve guessed correctly. Besides,” Gon adds with a sheepish grin. “I’m kinda tired of calling you ‘pale boy’ in my mind.”

 

  
The other boy looks at Gon in disbelief. “No one told you to think about me.”

 

  
“Can’t help it.” The way the pale boy colors even darker makes Gon’s grin grow impossibly wider. But before either of them could banter back, smart, prompt footsteps ring out across the school courtyard.

 

  
The pale boy squints and sights the figure walking towards them first. “Who’s that?” He asks, scrunching his nose. The figure is tall, a clean-cut shadow under the heat of the sun, prominent and purposefully headed where they stand.

  
Gon is impressed— even _he_ can’t see that far. Until he squints too, and actually sees who it is. “Oh _hell_ — it’s the principal.” His eyes widen and he looks at the boy beside him, who curses under his breath. Gon is about to meet the school official half-way and apologize profusely for being late when he feels something soft brush his cheek. The pale boy has leaned close to his ear. Distractedly, Gon notices how their proximity feels so natural— that it felt _right_ to be this close.

  
“ _Run_.” And before Gon could react, the pale boy grabs a fistful of his uniform sleeve and drags him _way_ behind the vicinity of the school building and out of the principal’s sight.

  
He slams both their backs against the cement wall, trying not to inhale the dust scattered from the force of it.

 

  
“Who— Who the heck runs from the principal?” Gon breathes out in shaky sentences. Gon thinks it’s the warmth of the pale boy’s hand over his chest — keeping him pressed against the wall — that has him more breathless than their near-encounter with a school official.

 

  
“Who the fuck uses ‘ _heck_ ’ as a curse word?” The pale boy’s tone is more amused than irritated.

 

  
“ _Gosh darn,_ I’m sorry.” Gon shoots back sarcastically.

 

  
Breathing hard, they look at each other before bursting into snickers. Gon is surprised by the sudden burst of camaraderie and revels in it until their laughter fades away. Belatedly, the pale boy seems to realize he still has one hand on Gon’s chest and quickly pulls away. A tense silence befalls them and Gon attempts to resume their conversation from earlier, but the pale boy isn’t done surprising him yet.

 

“Killua. It’s Killua Zoldyck.” He shoves his hands into their pockets and looks at Gon, brilliant eyes wary and anticipating— they narrow as he sees the recognition on Gon’s face.

 

The pale boy now had a name. A well-known one too, at that.

 

Killua. _Kil- lu - a._ It rolls off of his tongue easily, but even the vowels and consonants sound sharp and dangerous. _It suits him,_ Gon thinks. _A Zoldyck..._

  
A bitter half-smile is Killua’s answer to Gon’s eyebrows raising in surprise. “Guess you know my family, then,” Killua looks away.

  
_Everyone does,_ Gon thinks. But although the name is famous, little is known about the much-talked about family that had recently moved in. “Not much,” Gon says hesitantly, already sensing how sensitive a topic it is to Killua. “Only that you’ve just settled on the island, right on top of Kukuroo Mountain. Didn’t even know your folks had kids around your age.” Gon doesn’t mention the fact that he knows the Zoldycks are known for being insanely wealthy; he doesn’t think Killua would appreciate it.

  
And he’s correct. Killua looks at him in surprise and uncertainty, eyes softening with the faintest hint of gratitude. “Yeah, well.” He shrugs, trailing off, before suddenly looking at Gon again, as if he’d just remembered something. “Hey— I’ve done enough talking. You owe me something, right?”

 

  
“Almost forgot about that,” Gon laughs. “First, though— what color do you think my eyes are?”

 

  
“ _Fuck_ that, Freecss— you _promised_.” Killua crossed his arms over his chest.

 

  
“Killua, one guess won’t hurt.” Gon tries to think of more excuses in which he could possibly say Killua’s name— he rather likes the sound of it.

 

  
Killua grumbles and rubs his face tiredly with one hand, muttering colorful phrases all the while which Gon highly suspects are directed at him. “ _Fine_ ,” Killua spits out. He suddenly steps closer, surprising Gon and making him nearly reel backwards. A smirk crosses Killua’s face before turning into an expression of curiosity and reluctant wonder as he gazes at Gon.

  
Gon has often imagined staring into his soulmate’s eyes so many times, but he’d thought it would’ve been a little different than this. Maybe a lot more romantic, and definitely a lot less suspicious.

 

  
“Look much?” Gon can’t help but tease. He secretly enjoys the dark flush spreading across Killua’s face.

 

“Shut up,” Killua murmurs, still intent and focused on Gon’s eyes. He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Gon thinks it must be a habit. A sudden urge to just touch him makes Gon’s hand raise slowly of its own accord—

 

“I can’t tell the color,” Killua says quietly, “But— I don’t know— they look like the sun.”

 

  
Gon thinks his heart stops beating a little right then and there. He searches for any hint of embarrassment on Killua’s face, but all he sees is calm and sincerity. “Brown,” Gon smiles instead. “Says so on my birth certificate.”

  
Killua makes a small surprised noise stuck in his throat, barely audible. He looks as if Gon’s answer had confirmed some thought of his. But Gon isn’t satisfied yet.

 

  
“Killua.”

 

 

“What?”

 

Gon only looks at him expectantly. Killua frowns until he realizes what Gon wants.

 

“Oh, for the love of— _fine_. Mine are blue. Whatever.” Killua shakes his head and sighs. “Can’t believe you got it on the first guess.”

  
Gon laughs good-naturedly, leaning back against the wall, reveling in the coolness it provided. “My aunt used to tell me what the colors look like, how amazing they were. And your eyes fit the stories.” _Even more than the stories,_ Gon thinks.

  
“Your aunt can see them too?” Killua asks, curious despite himself. _Too?_ Gon likes the implication of that word.

  
“Used to,” Gon lowers his eyes. He still honestly can’t believe how Mito could have seen a world full of color, have it taken away from her without a moment’s notice, and still be as strong and functional as she is. Gon thinks he couldn’t even survive forgetting what Killua’s eyes look like.

 

  
“Maybe you could tell me some of those stories when we meet again someday.” A smile tugs on the corner of Killua’s mouth, head turning to look at Gon propped up on the wall beside him.

 

  
“Or maybe,” Gon leans in, also turning his head, “Maybe I could just show you.” Their faces are only inches apart and it’s _terribly_ distracting.

 

 

Killua shakes his head. “No— stop that. I can’t—“

 

 

“Listen— can we at least talk about it? I can’t think properly about all of, uh, _this_ ,” Gon waves a hand around for emphasis, “So we need to figure this out. But right now, I’m half an hour late for my first period, and so are you. We gotta get you to class; I _did_ promise, after all.” Gon starts walking ahead. He doesn’t even need to look back to know that Killua is fuming.

  
“I can find my own classes, Freecss.” Killua mutters, hands shoved forcibly in his pockets, walking even faster and overtaking Gon’s pace in the process. Gon smiles fondly at the sight.

 

 

“Hey, Killua?”

 

 

“What?” Killua snaps, still not stopping.

 

 

“Classrooms are that way.” Gon points in the direction opposite where Killua was headed. Killua abruptly turns around on his heel, head ducked and cheeks dark.

 

 

“Just lead the way,” Killua sighs as he passes Gon.

 

 

“You’re welcome.” Gon grins as they walk together.

 

 

“Shut up.”

 

 

Gon swears he sees the faintest smile on Killua’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated c:


	4. Technicolor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You— Will you _stop_ staring?” Killua snaps. 
> 
>  
> 
> Gon shakes his head incredulously, refusing to tear his eyes away from the sight. “Have you seen yourself?”
> 
>  
> 
> “Have _you?_ ” Killua snaps without thought.

 

 

Killua stares hard at the half-opened chocolate bar in his hand.

 

  
It is a few minutes past 5 in the afternoon. The sun has started to sink into the horizon, but the winds run rampant like the kindergarteners Killua watches across the courtyard after the bell had rung, both stirring dust in their wake. The gusts don’t stop— they rip through the windows, blow doors open, pull at the flag atop the pole for a bit, then descend all at once on the boy on top of the school building.

 

Killua shivers and bites back a curse as the sharp, cold winds run errant, raising goosebumps where they touch pale, bared skin not hidden by his uniform. It’s his fault for rushing up here immediately after the bell rang, just as Gon Freecss told him to do so. Killua tells himself he only hurried to get here to resolve whatever this was in a quick, orderly manner. Not because he wanted to see the boy with strange eyes and even stranger hair.

 

  
Definitely not that.

 

  
No, he’ll follow his backup plan— politely, but firmly, tell Gon Freecss about the absurdity of the concept of soulmates and how much easier it would be if he grew accustomed to a grayscale world. Like Killua has. Never mind the tiny problem that is the fact that they’ve already seen a color each— they can consider it a learning experience.

 

  
_Honestly_ , Killua thinks, _one color is enough for a lifetime. People should try it more often._

 

  
Yet he stares at the candy in his hand. And again. And again. He doesn’t take a bite yet. He’d already had two Hershey’s Bars at lunch, and each unwrapping was a surprise. Because he must’ve eaten more than a hundred of these in his lifetime, but today’s the first time he’s seen its color. While unwrapping, he’d expected this last bar to be as plain and black as all the other ones he usually eats, but something akin to relief floods his chest as he sees the rich, warm undertone of _brown_ peeking out from the corner of the light, crinkled wrapper.

 

 

_Huh_ , Killua thinks. _So Freecss wasn’t lying._

 

He’s about to take a small bite when he feels _something_ brush his shoulder.

 

Killua swivels around, muscles tensing instinctively so fast he drops the chocolate on the ground. He glances at it regretfully for a second, watching it settle amidst the concrete dust, then glares at the newcomer.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Gon laughs ruefully and raises both hands in an apologetic manner as he steps closer. “Good thing I bought this—“ Gon reaches over and fumbles for something inside his bag.

  
Killua is about to give him the profanity-ridden retaliation of a lifetime about how _nothing_ scares him when Gon shoves something in front of his face. Killua looks down at it, and his mouth hangs slightly open.

  
A Hershey’s Bar is dangling right under his nose. Killua looks at it, looks back at Gon, then firmly snatches the treat from the outstretched hand. Gon laughs seemingly in delight. “I knew you’d like it!”

 

  
“How?” Killua asked suspiciously.

 

  
“I, uh, was watching you. At lunch. You had a whole chocolate bar to yourself,” Gon’s tone is that of awe and amusement.

 

  
“Two, actually.” Killua snorts. He turns it around in his hands, studying the bar almost distrustfully, before placing it gingerly back in Gon’s hands. “And I changed my mind.” For a split second, Killua thinks he saw a hurt expression on Gon’s face, but it’s replaced by a trademark smile so quickly he isn’t quite sure.

 

  
“You know,” Gon sighs, reaching behind to tuck the bar again in his bag, “Around here, when someone offers you chocolate, you usually say ‘thanks’.”

 

  
“Usually?” Killua scoffs, turning back. “Not if you made me drop it in the first place. What’s the other option?”

 

  
“Giving chocolates is what you do when you like someone. So,” Gon smirks and stares Killua straight in the eyes. “A kiss isn’t unheard of.”

 

  
Gon leans in, one palm on the wall beside Killua’s head. It’s almost _ridiculous_ because Killua is obviously taller, albeit by an inch, but the look in Gon’s half-lidded eyes makes him rethink about laughing. Normally, if it were anyone else at the same proximity, he would’ve sent them to ground in seconds. But the mere fact that Gon’s movements are so decisive and controlled makes Killua pay attention. His vision narrows down to Gon and focuses on him only.

  
Killua hates it— hates feeling so _helpless_ , hates that he can’t look away from this strange, mad person with eyes reflecting the dying sun, but he can’t stop wanting more of it. _Of Gon_. Something primal takes over Killua’s instincts— make him lightheaded and warm and desperate for something he doesn’t know how to ask for. His gaze moves to Gon’s mouth as it draws nearer—

 

  
“Ha. Got you,” Gon whispers, their lips nearly brushing. Killua tastes his breath — mint and salt — before it is ripped away. Gon looks at him in amusement, now a few inches away.

 

  
Killua’s throat hitches. “You _jackass_ —“

 

  
Gon cracks up, leaning against the wall for support. “Killua, _your face_ ,” Gon gasps in between laughs. To Killua’s horror, some unwanted, unbidden part of his mind revels in the warm, infectious sound of Gon’s laughter, bringing an immediate heat to his cheeks. It was almost as if Killua’s body was working against him, responding to Gon more than himself.

  
“Hey,” Gon moves closer, curiosity replacing the teasing expression. “Did you— Wait — Killua, are you _blushing?_ ” Gon laughs in disbelief, peers into Killua’s face for confirmation.

 

  
Killua wonders whether the school building is tall enough for him to jump off and end the current mortification, wonders whether he should hurl Gon Freecss off of it instead.

 

  
“Did I just get _Killua Zoldyck_ to _blush?_ ” Gon says louder, and Killua already begins to plan his murder. He does not step away— Zoldycks never do. Killua holds his chin up high because he’ll be _damned_ if he submits to the embarrassment. He pulls off a face that he could only hope translates into ‘ _yeah, blood is rushing to my face— so fucking what?_ ’. Gon must’ve sensed the not-so-subtle hostility emanating from the pale boy at this point, but he doesn’t make a move to step back. In fact, he only nudges a little closer to Killua. The light, easygoing atmosphere has changed to an uneasy thoughtfulness, only made more prominent by the darkness slowly enveloping the horizon and the bitter winds blowing strong as ever.

  
“Hey, I was kidding,” Gon says cautiously. He is a silhouette against the last rays of the sun, close to setting and giving way to a thousand more stars. “You know that, right?”

 

“Yeah? Well, you island folk sure have a different way of showing it.” The words _island folk_ are spit out with such contempt that there’s nothing left to discern. Killua stills in shock; he hadn’t intended to say it out loud. He certainly hadn’t intended to refer to Gon and the island’s inhabitants in a condescending manner. Or maybe he did; he wasn’t usually— scratch that, he had _never_ been this flustered before. So much for all those diplomacy lessons.

  
Killua isn’t the only one surprised by the unjust words that flew from his mouth. Gon Freecss seems to have turned into stone, both stature-wise and expression-wise. He stands stock still, a dangerous blankness in his face. Killua doesn’t make the mistake of perceiving that blankness as calm— no, it is anything but. Killua suspects a greater emotion boiling underneath, waiting for the next chance to be spilled. By the remaining light, Killua sees Gon’s eyes turn into a similar version of his own when he looks in the mirror— dull, cold, calculating, devoid of all the warmth they’d displayed earlier.

 

  
It is unsettling, Killua realizes. He hadn’t known there were this many shades of brown in a person’s eyes alone.

 

  
“Makes you wonder who the jackass is, huh?” Gon’s quiet, flat response steals the apology away from Killua’s lips. He feels heat rushing to his cheeks again— this time, in _anger_.

 

  
Killua knew the answer.

 

  
“Well, excuse me for reacting to your inappropriate jokes,” Killua snarls. He can’t believe he was about to _apologize_. He wholly admits to being an asshole, yes, but Gon didn’t have to shove it in his face like that.

 

  
“You didn’t seem to think it was inappropriate earlier when you looked so ready to kiss me,” Gon shot back calmly.

 

  
“ _Take that back_.” Years of diplomacy lessons, and three pathetic words are what Killua manages to whisper. Although what he really wanted to say is ‘ _not true’_ , his body screams the opposite for him. Killua steps forward and lunges for the collar of Gon’s uniform, drawing his face effectively closer. Gon doesn’t make a move to defend himself. His knuckles brush the fragile skin on Gon’s throat, but he doesn’t notice. Yet.

 

  
“Make me,” Gon challenges, eyes like flint and fire and the layers of dying light around the sun. The rays cast his rounded cheeks into colorful shadows, striking against his perpetually spiked up black hair.

 

  
_Wait_ —

 

 

Gon’s hair is _black_. Not just dark. It is as black as the shadows under the crest of waves, black as a room without light. Killua didn’t think black was a color— only thought that, like white, it was devoid of hues. But he was wrong.

 

 

So, _so_ very wrong.

 

 

It is striking in and of itself against the warm skin of Gon Freecss. _Gon’s skin_ — there are too many shades to count, hidden in the slopes and valleys of his face and bared arms, that Killua doesn’t bother.

 

Killua glances at the sky instead, and stumbles at what he sees, because it’s _alive_.

 

The sky is breathing and burning and churning out so many colors it makes Killua’s head hurt. It is _explosive_ and _frightening_ and _beautiful_. Killua belatedly realizes that he’s not looking at the sky anymore but rather into a pair of eyes in front of him. Frankly, he can’t tell the difference. _It’s too much,_ Killua thinks. He’s heard of how some soulmates, with just the barest brush of their fingers, saw the entire world in a kaleidoscopic burst for the first time, contrary to the one-color-per-touch norm. As a kid, he’d scoffed at the very concept. Didn’t actually think he’d experience it one day.

  
His mind can hardly process all of it at once. Gon doesn’t seem to have taken note of the change in scenery yet; Killua tries to move away and lets go of the collared shirt but Gon is somehow, _impossibly_ faster— he grabs Killua’s bare arms and pushes himself away from the lock hold so hard they’re both sent staggering.

  
Breathing hard, Gon is about to step forward again when he freezes— a statue against the swirling masterpiece that is the dusk. A harsh exhale escapes Gon’s lips— _so he must’ve already noticed,_ Killua thought. _Same here._

  
Struggling to keep quiet gasps of his own, Killua finally witnesses the result of touching one’s soulmate— the sun aimlessly fighting to remain in its place in the sky, seemingly refusing to be swallowed up by the horizon, throwing out fingers of colored light and latching onto the high-strung clouds. Inky shades of colors Killua can’t name yet descend from above, a maelstrom of paint and darkness.

  
Killua can’t blame Gon for looking so enraptured— in the face of something greater and older than themselves, their petty squall seemed almost forgotten. Killua almost speaks again, just to fill the terrible silence — to apologize or insult, he didn’t know exactly — when he looks closer at Gon and realizes something.

 

  
Gon isn’t looking at the sky. Or the sun. Or even the non-grayscale surroundings cast in different shades by the dying light. _No_ , Killua thinks. _Fuck, no_ —

 

  
Because Killua realizes that Gon has been looking at _him_ all along. And on Gon’s face is the very same, enraptured expression Killua’d thought Gon had been looking at the sky with.

 

 

Killua’s breaths are stolen before they even reach his lungs and it hurt.

 

 

“You— Will you _stop_ staring?” Killua snaps. But ironically it’s he who ends up looking at the ground, knowing he’ll melt into oblivion if Gon keeps this up.

 

  
Gon shakes his head incredulously, refusing to tear his eyes away from the sight. “Have you _seen_ yourself?”

 

  
“Have _you?_ ” Killua snaps without thought. He hadn’t meant to, but the way Gon looked in color had his words lost and his sentences cut short.

 

  
“I can’t, Killua— You’re—“ Gon speaks in awed, broken sentences and it sends a pleasant shiver down Killua’s spine. Gon looks so dazed it has Killua’s chest threatening to burst like an overflowing dam.

  
He looks down at his hands hesitantly, studies them; they aren’t much different. Pale and scarred on the knuckles, fingers long and tapered. A few veins on the inside of his wrist catch his attention— they look like tiny streams of color on their own. A breeze makes his fringe fall into his eyes and he moves to brush it instinctively, only to notice how lightly colored they are. _White, huh?_ Killua thinks. Other than that, he doesn’t find anything to warrant the inscrutable expression on Gon’s face. Killua doesn’t understand it, why Gon keeps looking at him like that, like—

 

  
_Like he’s mesmerized._

 

  
_It’s unfair,_ Killua silently seethes. _I mean how the fuck could you still look at me that way when you haven’t even seen yourself yet_

 

  
Gon really, _really_ needed to find a mirror.

 

  
They stood there watching each other by the last bursts of sunlight, already dissolving into the abysmal night. In order to fathom his thoughts, Killua tries to make a headcount of all the observable colors in his surroundings, but one glance at the boy in front of him makes Killua realize how futile it is. Helpless, all Killua could do is wonder just how many colors resided in Gon’s eyes alone.

 

  
“Killua,” Gon breathes, and Killua shuts his eyes and still sees color behind his eyelids. It’s hopeless. They open when he hears Gon take a step forward, bits of leftover gravel crunching audibly under his shoe. Killua steps back and realizes he finds it humorous, how they’ve practically been moving back and forth like this all the while. A dance that only the two of them were familiar with.

  
Gon is now at arm’s length away; the distance could easily be closed by both of them reaching out. Neither of them make a move, though. Killua shivers, and it’s only partly from the cold. He clenches his hands into tight fists, nails digging into the soft skin on his palms so hard they draw blood. The pain keeps him grounded, but he stands, ready to flee.

 

  
“Hey,” Gon says quietly, barely above a whisper. “Killua, you know what this means, don’t you?” Gon’s eyes are unwavering— they burn straight into Killua’s, demanding his understanding and an answer.

 

  
“ _Don’t_ you?” Gon asks again, this time imploring, almost begging.

 

  
_No_ , Killua thinks, eyes closing once more, as if to shut Gon out. He doesn’t— not really. Doesn’t think he understands anything at this point. Because all his life he’s believed that colors were a hindrance, overrated and preached of by incompetent fools romanticizing the implication of being able to see them.

 

  
But now, he’s not so sure.

 

  
_Your eyes fit the stories,_ Gon had said to him. The stories that his aunt had told him, stories which he’d thought were amazing.

 

  
_You are the stories,_ Killua wanted to sob out.

 

  
He opens his eyes just as Gon’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

 

  
This time, he _sees_ the colors appear— a shade of gray on the concrete floor, some darkened constellations spread across the bridge of Gon’s nose ( _freckles_ , Killua realizes), and a different hue of fading sunlight on his warmly colored skin.

 

  
_It’s too much,_ Killua echoes. His body agrees— his arm is reeled back instinctively, the heat of Gon’s fingers still imprinted on skin.

 

  
“Don’t touch me,” Killua says quietly. _At least, not until I figure this out,_ he doesn’t add.

 

  
And for reasons he still couldn’t entirely fathom, Killua turned heel and ran. Pinpricks of light emerged from the darkened sky, signaling twilight. And still Killua ran.

 

  
Gon watched the pale figure as it was swallowed up by the night.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killua: i am beauty i am grace i will punch u in the face  
> Gon: *breathes*  
> Killua: *confused* fuck is that— no fuck me *trips over nothing*


	5. Same World, But Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t peg you for a stalker.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Don’t flatter yourself— I wanted the chocolate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up directly where Chapter 4 left off.

 

 

Gon stares at the receding figure in the night, long enough until he’s just chasing the image of Killua in his mind, long enough for the pinpricks of stars to pierce through the sky.

 

  
His soulmate’s just bailed on him. Literally. Even basically told him to sod off.

 

  
Despite these unfortunate events, though, Gon is strangely calm; thoughts collected and objective clear—

 

  
to find Killua Zoldyck.

 

  
What had transpired between them earlier was something Gon only heard in stories. Everyone knew the stories. The barest brush of Killua’s fingers against his skin was all it took for his world to explode into color.

 

  
Like Mito and Jiro.

 

  
Gon has already so many questions for his aunt—

  
Did they bicker like Killua and he did? Did Jiro have a hard time opening up to her, like how Killua currently is? Did Jiro initiate a fist fight on their first meeting, like Killua did? (Gon doubts that)

 

  
_Killua Killua Killua_

 

  
It’s only been a day, yet Gon can’t help but be interested in this strange, wonderful person who’s brought more than enough excitement for a lifetime. Though an attraction for the white-haired enigma is clearly present, he’s not particularly familiar with this kind. _Intimate_.

 

Sure, he’s been in a few relationships before— torrid, whirlwind things, passionate at first, then gone with a sigh the very next day. So many things done in curiosity, hardly out of attraction. Grasping fingers and fleeting touches that had never stirred something in him, so he’s never gone farther than that. But then here comes this transfer student, messes up Gon’s world then makes it better than before— all in one day.

 

  
One thing is for sure: he’s not going to let Killua Zoldyck go that easily.

 

  
But he’ll take his time tonight. After all, a new world is out there (granted, the same world, but slightly different).

 

  
Gon shoves his hands in their respective pockets, as he’d seen Killua do earlier that day, and trudges his way out of the school building. Instead of taking his usual route home, though, he traverses through a shortcut he’d basically crafted into the trees, leading to his favorite, most private spot on Whale Island— a clearing by the cliff side, directly above churning waters. Mito had taken him there as a little kid, and now he’s used it as a getaway place for most lazy afternoons. Even in grayscale, it had looked too pretty for their awfully mundane world, like something out of a fictional book.

 

_Like Killua,_ Gon absently thinks. While the Zoldyck heir obviously didn’t share or appreciate the sentiment, Gon believes it to be true— so far, Killua’s done nothing but cause exhilaration and a warmth in Gon’s chest to bloom tenfold. And the way Killua _looked_ earlier— Gon doesn’t even have words for how the pale boy cut an impressive silhouette against the dying rays. A tousled mess of shocking white hair. Limbs long and possessing an awkwardness reminiscent of a newborn fawn’s, though Gon senses how deadly they can perform in mere seconds. Mouth ever so slightly quirked at the corner, as if a smile threatened to break out any minute. And those eyes— they didn’t even fit what Gon has tried to imagine so many times. A shade of blue more intense than any hue he’s seen of yet, shifting from teasing to sarcastic, quicker than lightning.

 

  
... Maybe he _does_ have words, after all.

 

  
Forcing his attention back to the path, Gon admires the way moonlight settles on the dust in disarrayed patterns. Despite the dark, he thinks he’d like to see his spot all the more, now that he can fully appreciate its beauty— all thanks to Killua, at that.

 

  
Perhaps tomorrow, Gon can give him a different bar of chocolate.

 

  
Although he’ll have to explain to Mito why he’s already spent all of his allowance on the first day of school.

 

  
Entertaining such notions, Gon treads through his worn-out path in hopes of a change of scenery.

 

* * *

 

  
Killua’s feet already hurt, but stopping isn’t an option.

  
He runs hard enough to make it seem that the colors and noises blur into a single being overtaking his senses. Doesn’t care where, just knows that he has to put distance between himself and the boy with eyes that looked like the sun itself. Killua’d thought the sunset in color was already pretty disorienting, but the island night life is much more so— strings of warm lights are hung over the roof of houses, passing cars briefly illuminate the road, and even the darkness of the night sky possesses a hue that is not entirely black like Gon’s hair.

 

  
Killua, in his agitated state, vaguely wonders when he’d started calling Gon by his first name in his mind.

 

  
His legs falter and he stumbles hard into a streetlight. He manages to lean on the pole to catch his breath, forehead pressed against cool metal that soothed his burning skin. Killua only realizes that he’s actually a bit lost when he takes in his surroundings— a solid wall towering above him on his right side, gently sloping upwards with the road, and on the other side, a line of trees. It is also strangely familiar, yet different enough in spectrum to make his head ache. Thankfully, the area is deserted and, under the cover of darkness, almost seems devoid of color, washed out in black and white.

  
Going home is out of the question; he doesn’t think he can keep his disorientation to a minimum just yet. The lavishness of the Zoldyck Manor certainly won’t be of much help in taking in things slowly. Eyes darting around, his gaze finally settles on the thick undergrowth of the forest on his other side. Strangely, the consistent placement of the railings that line the sidewalk is broken by a small opening. Further inspection by crossing the street revealed a curiously, well-used path leading deep into the thicket of trees, stretching far enough that Killua couldn’t see where it ended. Amidst the rush of oncoming traffic, even quieter than the constant serenade of the cicadas, he could just barely make out the faint noise of what sounded like waves crashing against rock.

  
Now, Killua was a rational person, and wandering in the woods at twilight in order to gather his overloaded senses wasn’t usually what one would call rational— but, he thinks, it’s either getting lost in the dark, or facing the Zoldycks in another one of their mandatory dinner meetings.

 

  
It’s not even a difficult choice.

 

  
Killua can handle a lot of things, but at the moment, his entire family in detailed color isn’t one of those.

 

The moonlight is strong enough to illuminate deep into the path, speckling the ground in places where the trees block it from above.

 

  
Still wondering what excuse he should give for his absence at the dinner table, Killua steps on the worn path and allows himself to be embraced by the darkness and branches.

 

* * *

 

  
The wind weaves its fingers through Gon’s salt-strewn hair, tearing at his school uniform in every which way. He doesn’t mind the cold, verging between deliciously stimulating and painful, and revels in the trail of goosebumps it leaves in its wake along his bared arms. His legs dangle precariously over the edge, but the thought of falling is almost amusing— he’s been playing along the cliff side for so long he’s had every pebble and grass memorized. No, the chances of falling are slight. He estimates the cliff drop to be over a hundred feet high, but he’s not sure. Though he knows for certain that nobody could possibly survive a drop of any height on the jagged rocks below that catch the waves. 

  
The ground beneath him is soft with flattened grass, and he leans back on his hands, bag thrown to the side. No rocks jut out from the completely flat area the size of a fairly big room, the night sky visible from the absence of trees at the center— perfect for the numerous stargazing nights he’d spent here as a kid.

  
The thick undergrowth of various bushes and trees help conceal his thinking place from potential prying eyes, accessible only by the dirt path (located in such an obvious place, Gon wonders why no one’s bothered to follow it all these years) near the road.

  
The place itself is already quite a haven, but the view from the cliff side is something else.

  
The vegetation stops dangerously around the edge of the cliff, where Gon sits now, to reveal the entire skyline of the town of Whale Island on the other side, land separated by frothing sea. Previously a black and white landscape, it had still managed to tug at Gon’s heart— like seeing a hidden side of the island. Now in full-blown color, it steals Gon’s breaths before they even reach his lungs.

  
Eyes already half-fluttering shut with drowsiness, they open with a start when he realizes he’s forgotten to text Mito. Guiltily, Gon scrabbles for his phone inside the bag next to him when he stills suddenly.

 

  
Something had _snorted_.

 

* * *

 

 

Killua curses as his backpack snags on another branch. He’s not sure how long he’s been walking— ten, maybe fifteen minutes? Deep enough that he couldn’t see where he’d begun, with only the trail and occasional moonlight breaking out from the trees to guide him. 

 

Squinting into the distance, he thinks he sees a hint of light, though it’s too faint to be sure. Inside these woods, he can almost pretend that his vision’s back to normal, what with the absence of striking colors and all. It’s a strange comfort, to be back in his world of shadows. The simplicity of it makes him ache. 

 

The pinprick light at the end grows stronger as he nears it— perhaps it’s a clearing. The sound of the waves grow louder as well; the beach? Though Killua’s quite sure the area is rather elevated. 

 

He sees it now— a clearing on the edge of a cliff, emphasized by the celestial light of the sky. Far on the other side, the town lights softly twinkle, as if muted. The constant thrum of the waves crashing is hypnotizing. The hues are mellow, easy on the eyes, but still enough to take Killua’s breath away. The night does little to dull the colors yet surprisingly they do not faze Killua as much. Here seemed like a place that could let his senses grow accustomed without compromising his orientation. 

 

Then he sees it— a lonely figure sitting on the very edge of the cliff, leaning back on its hands. The figure is familiar. 

 

Too familiar. 

 

The moonlight exposed all, hid nothing from Killua’s sharp gaze. It doesn’t hide the figure’s unbuttoned school uniform fluttering in the wind, or the black hair that seemed to defy gravity. 

 

It’s starting to look like he is truly unable to escape Gon Freecss. 

 

Killua wonders if shoving Gon off the cliff will solve everything, realizes it would result in too much paperwork, and snorts. 

 

Out loud. 

 

He freezes, mouth forming a silent ‘ _fuck_ ’; he’s never, _ever_ made a sound during his stealth escapades. Until now, that is. He’d generously like to blame it on today’s whirlwind events. 

 

For a frightening second, he thinks Gon’s heard him, but the guy’s just reached for something in his bag. 

 

_Idiot_ , Killua thinks. _If I were a murderer, he’d be dead by now._

 

Gon’s now messing on his phone, face briefly lit up by the harsh screen, and Killua’s heart thumps uncomfortably fast for some god-forsaken reason. Against the picturesque scene, Gon looks so... at home. Watching Gon, a sense of contentment washes over him, quickly replaced with confusion. 

 

_Great_ , he thinks. _You should be avoiding the idiot but no, stupid Killua, you just can’t, can you?_

 

He stills again when Gon moves abruptly, but it’s only to put his phone back in the bag, turning to gaze at the cliff side once more. Visibly relaxing, Killua releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Something glints in Gon’s bag, and Killua’s eyes widen as he sees what it is. 

 

The dark wrapper of a Hershey’s Bar peeks out of the front pocket of the bag. 

 

Killua swallows hard. He’s stolen Milluki’s stash of expensive, liquor-infused chocolate before, when he was about six. While Milluki was in the room. Talking to him. Compared to that, this looked too easy. 

 

He’d dropped his own bar earlier, courtesy of Gon- _Fucking_ -Freeccs, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get the chocolate back. 

 

Killua, encouraged by the notion that his soulmate is practically oblivious, takes a few, bold steps forward, but not enough to expose himself.

 

God, does he hope that the idiot doesn’t notice him. 

 

* * *

 

 

Out of Gon’s peripheral vision, there is clearly a figure blending in with the shadow of nearby trees behind. The figure, which had obviously made the sniffling noise, doesn’t make any more moves either. Careful not to let on that he’s noticed its presence, Gon pretends to continue fumbling with his phone while keeping an eye on it sideways.

  
It’s too tall for an animal; a bear? No, it’s also too slim for that. In fact, Gon is almost sure it’s a person. He looks at it again out of the corner of his eye— there, it shoved some branches away, noiselessly this time. It’s ever so subtly moving closer, but Gon isn’t afraid in the slightest— if the person had wanted to hurt him, they would’ve done so earlier, from afar.

 

  
Unless, of course, they had a knife.

 

  
Gon hasn’t really thought that through.

 

  
But he swears every time he steals a glance, the figure seems more and more familiar. Silently multitasking, he keeps piecing together those bits of familiarity until he freezes for a second—

 

  
_Ah. Got you._

 

  
Realization breaking out, a grin slowly makes its way to Gon’s face as he finishes his text to Mito, informing her that he’ll be a little late, as he’s got some catching up to do. Throwing his phone back inside the bag, Gon stretches his arms above his head and yawns, feeling his weary bones crack with satisfaction. Without turning around, he directly addresses the person, now only a few feet behind.

 

  
“I didn’t peg you for a stalker.”

 

  
Only stilling for a second, the person shot back a reply coolly, despite being the one at a disadvantage. “Don’t flatter yourself— I wanted the chocolate.”

 

  
Gon can’t help the surprised laugh that follows.

 

  
Killua Zoldyck steps into the clearing, bathed in pooling moonlight, proud and haughty as a marble statue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School begins tomorrow, so I wanted to post this as quickly as possible. Sorry if it seems a bit rushed. 
> 
> Suggestions and constructive criticisms are always appreciated!


	6. Maybe We Just Keep Finding Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua is open to new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry, school’s been keeping me busy. Enjoy this very Killua-centric chapter. Things might slow down in this one though. It focuses on the platonic side of their relationship.

 

This really isn’t how Killua had pictured his day would go. He just wanted the Hershey’s Bar.

 

 

Killua can just _hear_ the smug grin in the other boy’s remark, and it only makes him want to punch the back of his head even more, but Killua won’t give him that satisfaction. Leaning back on his palms, Gon Freecss sits serenely looking up at the dusting of stars, not even gracing Killua’s intrusion with a glance behind.

 

 

Not for the last time, the sight of the boy makes Killua’s head spin and his chest twist painfully. Vaguely wonders if a heart attack is about to do him in.

 

 

“Why’re you here?” Killua grumbles.

 

 

“Why not?” Gon shoots back.

 

 

“You’re impossible,” Killua half-laughs. He grudgingly admires the sarcasm.

 

 

“Lots of people think so,” Gon seems to smile. “Anyway, I discovered this place when I was a kid. And I got here before you did, so...”

 

 

“I didn’t follow you here, just so you know,” Killua clarifies.

 

 

_Maybe we just keep finding each other._

 

 

“Right,” Gon replies. Killua is about to retaliate when Gon glances sideways, a teasing smile in place.

 

 

“Why’re _you_ here, Killua?” Gon asks, turning back towards the sea.

 

 

“I—“ Killua pauses, not quite knowing what to answer. He looks around, and then at Gon, reveling in the sharpness of the wind and the chill of the air. Gon’s lean silhouette is outlined by the moon, the strong curves of his cheek and jaw and shoulder standing out starkly.

 

 

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Killua admits softly. He trudges towards the lonely figure, but abruptly stops in his tracks at the view spread out behind the boy sitting at the edge of the cliff.

 

 

Not usually one for admiring scenery, Killua is dumbstruck at how _pretty_ the soft town lights look against the dark trying to swallow them whole. In contrast to the calmness of the luminosity across on the other side of the island, the sea froths angrily, spewing out foam at the crest of waves trying to reach the sky. It’s a curse, Killua thinks, to be able to see this kind of beauty when you don’t even want to.

 

 

His breath catches in his throat audibly, and Gon finally turns around.

 

 

“ _Killua_.” His name is but a soft breath exhaled from Gon’s mouth, and still Killua has no fucking idea why his heart jolts lively in response.

 

 

“What?” The pale boy snaps, trying to calm the traitorous beating in his chest.

 

 

A pause, and then— “The view’s better here,” Gon cheekily grins and pats the space beside him.

 

 

Ablaze with something fierce and terribly goading, earth-colored eyes meet his own.

 

 

“If you sit with me, I’ll give you the Hershey’s Bar.”

 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

 

Killua curses inwardly as he trudges over to the edge of the cliff. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway.A palm on the ground, a swing of his legs, and suddenly he is seated and feels Gon’s warmth by his left side. He’s not careful enough, and there’s a brush of warm, tan skin against his. Killua inhales sharply as the contact makes shades of the ocean flicker into existence. It’s almost the same color as the sky, he realizes. Something not quite black or blue, but in between. He feels Gon’s stare burning into the side of his face, but he forces himself not to look.

 

 

“Did you see—“ Gon begins hesitantly.

 

 

“Yeah,” Killua swallows hard. “Yeah. The, uh, sea. Looks different.” Curses himself for sounding so dazed.

 

 

“Your eyes.”

 

 

“I— what?”

 

 

“Your eyes,” Gon repeats, and the smile in his voice makes Killua finally face him. “They look like the sea.”

 

 

“Duh, idiot. They’re blue,” Killua retorts.

 

 

“S’not that,” Gon laughs, then trails off. “It’s, I don’t know.” The words seem to be on the tip of his tongue yet he keeps them reined in. Gon waves his hands in a whole-bodied shrug and Killua secretly likes the wildness of the gesture.

 

 

“It’s what?” Killua raises an eyebrow.

 

 

“It’s just they both look really pretty.” Gon Freecss actually says this with so straight a face that it takes a beat for Killua to fully digest the words.

 

 

“No.” There is the familiar heat creeping into his neck and cheeks and Killua stares down at his hands, clenching and unclenching, not knowing if he wants to strangle the bright-eyed boy beside him or do something else. _God_ , Killua groans in his mind. Leave it to his unsociable brain to have super reflexes when under physical attack, yet turn into a puddle at the mention of a compliment.

 

 

“I mean it, though.” Gon leans in, apparently unaware of the boundaries of private space and the turmoil growing in Killua’s mind. “They’re both really blue and big and—“ but Killua cuts him off before he could get any more embarrassing.

 

 

“Nope. No. I meant I can’t do... _this_.” Killua punctuates the last word with a wild gesture of the hand, pertaining to the little space between them both.

 

 

“Ah. Us, you mean.” Gon’s tone is indecipherable but there is tension wrought in the crease between his eyes.

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

Killua lets his feet swing weightlessly over the churning sea. Gon scratches at the side of his nose.

 

 

It’s surprisingly heavy, this kind of silence that follows. Of course, his soulmate just has to go right in and ruin it.

 

 

“Do you really hate me that much?” Gon nudges Killua gently with his shoulder (on the sleeve this time, Killua notes, perhaps to avoid contact).

 

 

The question catches Killua off-guard. So much so that, in all honesty, he replies—

 

 

“No. But I’m not terribly into the whole soulmates thing.”

 

 

“Oh.” To Killua’s jumbled thoughts, Gon’s reply almost sounds... _disappointed_. But Gon’s next question startles him even more.

 

 

“Then what about being friends?” 

 

 

Killua stares at him. ‘Friendship’ isn’t a word he usually utilizes or even associates with his lifestyle. _Unnecessary_. _Distracting_. And a bunch more other synonyms drilled into his head at an early age by his snake-like eldest brother, Illumi, and his mother, who were often in charge of his ‘training’. Fortunately, Killua didn’t really have the time to initiate such relationships, as the Zoldyck family never stayed in one place for too long. And being homeschooled up until recently certainly didn’t help.

 

 

“Why the hell would you want to be friends?” _With someone like me,_ Killua secretly thinks.

 

 

“Anyone who has the guts to run away from the principal like that, well, I just have to make them my friend immediately.” Gon grins, the epitome of self-confidence and rugged boyishness.

 

 

“ _Have_ to?” Killua shakes his head. “Has no one ever said ‘no’ to you, Forest Boy?”

 

 

Gon laughs so hard Killua thinks he feels the vibrations of it in his bones. “ _Forest_ _Boy?_ ” Gon echoes, and Killua feels the burn in his cheeks intensify, self-concious of the familiar way he’d given Gon a nickname. He’s about to take it back when Gon says—

 

 

“I like it. Nicknames. It’s what friends do, right?”

 

 

 _Friends_. Killua looks out and up the star-dusted horizon. He wonders if the butlers would count as his friends. _Friends meant having conversations not strictly professional, right?_ Canary, the dark-skinned, youngest butler, and Gotoh immediately pop into his mind. In his whole seventeen years of existence, only two people who work for his family have ever really bothered to strike up a conversation with him that didn’t involve relaying a message from his parents or being escorted from one room to another.

 

 

 _Friends_. Killua thinks his father would approve of him having one, though they’ve never really delved into the topic before.

 

 

Killua is taking too long to answer, and he’s sure Gon probably thinks he’s a freak. Killua looks back at him.

 

 

Gon stares back, determined, intense, and dead-set. The moon and the dark do little to dull the sun in his eyes, Killua notes. He almost has to look away.

 

 

Killua thinks of defying his mother and Illumi. It would be more than fun.

 

 

Gon suddenly reaches for something by his side. Killua’s gaze follow his movements, curious. Something materializes in front of his face and Killua resists the impulse to knock it away. Leaning back, he realizes what it is Gon is offering him, and something in his chest grows warm.

 

 

Killua grasps the Hershey’s Bar. Gon’s eyes are bright. Too bright. _Gon_ is too bright. And Killua wonders if he really could have this.

 

 

“So?” Gon softly presses for an answer, an urging smile in place. Killua looks away, not answering. Gon’s whole body droops in resignation for a moment until Killua says—

 

 

“Using chocolate to bribe someone? That’s just sad, Gon Freecss.” Killua smirks and slowly unwraps the bar, silver wrapper crinkling.

 

 

“But did it work?” Gon plays along, leaning even closer.

 

 

Killua shrugs in lieu of an answer, breaks off a generously sized piece of chocolate, and holds it out in Gon’s direction.

 

 

“It’s yours; you don’t have to give me some, you know,” Gon laughs, seemingly pleasantly surprised.

 

 

“Idiot. It’s what friends do, right?” And Killua wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly burst into flames, hot as his face feels at the moment, at his own cheesy sentiment, and at the way Gon is looking at him. Gon looks down at the earthy sweetness already melting in Killua’s fingers, and up at Killua, a smile breaking out on his dimpled face.

 

 

“Yeah,” Gon grins, taking the piece from Killua, careful not to brush against him all the while. Their lingering eyes do all the touching that is needed. “Friends do that.”

 

 

What little clouds are left start to clear. Gon points out constellations, the names of the stars muffled by the chocolate in his mouth.

 

 

And Killua wonders, hypothetically, what else friends could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween my children. Will try to write more often.


	7. Patchwork World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI SO UHHH I FELT THAT THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER WAS A BIT RUSHED SO I JUST HAD TO MAKE IT UP TO U GUYS. 
> 
> quick run through:
> 
> 1\. killua has agreed to be (strictly) friends w gon the sunshine baby.  
> 2\. this chapter takes place one month after their cliff-side encounter.  
> 3\. since kil and gon have only touched each other a few times, their sight is limited to select colors only, so everything looks patched up with gray (hence the title *wink wink*)  
> 4\. despite what #3 states above, SOMEHOW they’re able to see only each other in FULL COLOR (hint: it’s got smth to do with them being soulmates) 
> 
> oh, and get ready for athletic!! gon ;—)

 

A whole month passes by, but Killua barely notices. He’s more focused on trying not to be overwhelmed by the barrage of colors attacking his vision in every waking moment.

 

 

_one touch, one color_

 

 

— is the unspoken condition for soulmates. Though not necessarily always true, it‘s what’s most common. Killua thinks of Gon, their encounter on the roof, and the burst of colors on the horizon with just the whisper of a brush of their skin. Apparently, there exists more than a thousand _fucking_ hues than Killua knows what to do with and he could so easily do _without_ them but now half of them are just _there_ and he can’t unsee it.

 

 

The night he talked with Gon, he didn’t really have the time or wits to worry about the imbalance of the spectrum of his world after each physical encounter with his... ‘ _soulmate_ ’. (He still cringes inwardly at the implication of the term). But afterwards, when the morning had come and self-consciousness crashed down upon him and the sunlight hid nothing from view, part of Killua wished he could just scratch his eyes out.

 

 

On the first morning, everything had looked grotesque and highly saturated. Sure, he’s able to see just select shades, but the ones that were present seemed as if they were trying their best to burn themselves in Killua’s vision, so even as he shut his eyes, streaks of blue and brown and colors of the grass painted his eyelids.

 

 

Night time is something else, what with the darkness obscuring every flaw and all, but in the daylight each imperfection and absence of color stands out a thousand times sharper, more conspicuous— at least, to Killua’s eyes. People walking around with large flecks of grays and white in their eyes and mouths and their lips scrunched and tongues twisted and drained of hues. The surreality of it is almost comical, like a painting left half way done.

 

 

Not for the first time, Killua longs for his world of shadows— equality reigned the senses. Colors held no meaning, dictated nothing, and had no authority over anyone. Now, yellow signifies the light of the sun. Black is not just the shadows, it is the polished shine of his school shoes. Gray is not only the absence of color but also sometimes the color of the skies post-rain. Brown is...

 

 

A certain pair of eyes suddenly flash in his mind. They are warm and laughing and flecked through with bits of other colors Killua still has no name for.

 

 

_Shameless bastard_ , Killua thinks, belatedly feeling the burn in his cheeks. _Who gave you permission to pop into my mind?_ He groans inwardly and buries his eyes into the heels of his hands. Friends don’t randomly think of their friends, do they? And when they do think about them, Killua’s pretty sure their thoughts shouldn’t send their hearts racing and brains short-circuiting.

 

 

It’s certainly harder than it looks, dealing with all this. But then again, Killua isn’t a Zoldyck for nothing. It’ll take a lot more than living in a nightmarish, patchwork compilation of a world to faze the seventeen year-old. Though he congratulates himself, pleased at his own self-control, for not throwing up at the sight of Milluki earlier during breakfast.

 

 

He shudders, trying desperately to erase the unwanted image of his elder brother in color. It’s not the kind of thing one would want to think about just before eating.

 

 

The cafeteria is buzzing and alive with ravenous adolescents, all slaves to their hormones and the need to assert dominance. Since he always goes to and leaves school all by himself, Killua doesn’t see the need to make an exception when it comes to lunch. A month has passed, and Killua still gets quite a few stares from across the hall. Initially Killua thought it was because _somehow_ they knew what had transpired and what continues to take effect on him and Gon, even after they’d both sworn to keep quiet, but then realized his hair and nameplate were practically walking beacons in the dull, unchanging school environment.

 

 

As rare as finding one’s soulmate at an early age is, finding them on the same, isolated island and in the same school is practically unheard of. Which is why they both agreed on not telling anyone. Yet. In Gon’s case, at least. He’d mentioned wanting Killua to meet someone called Mito-san someday. Killua’d grumbled something about Gon being embarrassing, but the way his cheeks flushed belied his insult. Anyway, Killua wouldn’t ever dream of casually going up to his parents and saying _‘hey so guess what we did at school today? yeah that’s right i found my soulmate’_. To Alluka, maybe. He could just about imagine her starry-eyed reaction. A pity he has to destroy his sister’s romantic, unrealistic ideals. Never in a million years would Killua conform to the concept of a soulmate.

 

 

A few people draw back chairs at the end of Killua’s table, but never three seats near him. He recognizes them as kids from Literature class. They chat happily amongst each other, snippets of their talk reaching Killua’s ears.

 

 

“Well, Simon told Ms. Bisky to stuff her pigtails in...”

 

 

“Zushi, you know what Mr. Wing said about...”

 

 

“I _know_ it’s a potato, Retz. Jesus...”

 

 

As they plunk their food-filled trays down, they nod at Killua, something they’ve been doing ever since the daily roll-call began and Killua, of course, raised his hand lazily when the name ‘Zoldyck’ came last. Infamous as they may be, the mention of his family name always only gets two reactions: awe or fear. It’s rather handy, and he likes exploiting it. Makes him feel like he’s finally taking back something from his family. Killua nods back. Thus ends the only kind of conversation not class-related which he occasionally concedes to.

 

 

Killua thinks he’s got the hang of this ‘friend’ thing. But he still refuses to partake in mundane activities such as sitting in a group or chatting in a group or even eating in a group.

 

 

Just. He hates groups.

 

 

_Safety in numbers, my ass,_ Killua snorts.

 

 

He stares down at the chocolate cake on his plate, the only thing he deems edible on the menu. It’s actually pretty decent-tasting. He picks at the brown curlicues decorating the top of the slice, wondering where the hell Gon could be since he usually takes the cherry on—

 

 

Oh, right.

 

 

It’s Friday, the only day his schedule differs vastly from Gon’s (he knows this quite well, as they’ve got nearly all the same classes together. Suspiciously). This gives Killua a thirty-minute head start to the cafeteria. As mentioned, it’s true that Killua doesn’t feel the need to socialize during lunch time, but Gon Freecss _just_ has to ruin that as well.

 

 

Killua glances at his watch. 11:04 AM. Huh. Gon’s already a few minutes late. Usually by this time, he’d be throwing the cafeteria’s double doors open and storming his way to Killua’s table like the brute he is. Of course, the basketball team would be close behind, faithfully following Gon on and off the court. Killua wonders what they make of their team captain often hanging out with the Zoldyck heir at lunch.

 

 

Dependency is akin to weakness, so he’s been told all his life. But it doesn’t stop Killua from absently searching familiar tufts of black hair wildly sticking out from among the heads in the crowded hall. It doesn’t stop him from missing Gon’s jokes about the food, or the way he’d take Killua to class even though it makes Gon ten minutes late for basketball practice, even though they both know Killua’s already got the whole school mapped out in his mind.

 

 

_Having an acquaintance is such a pain_ , Killua thinks.

 

 

“Killua!” Someone shouts from the doorway. He doesn’t even need to turn to know who it is. Pointedly, Killua stabs at the cake slice on his plate. He hears the thunderous footsteps of heavy-set jocks, their telltale, expensive sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor, but still Killua doesn’t look back. Not even when they begin to sit their sweaty-from-training asses on the chairs nearby him, disrupting the solitude Killua prefers for company.

 

 

“I do that nearly every day,” Gon sighs, throwing his duffel bag on the floor. He slides into the seat nearest Killua, shorts-bared knee brushing Killua’s pants-covered own. Towel slung carelessly around his neck. Toned arms exposed, thanks to the sleeveless jersey the varsity always wear. Killua tries not to look too fascinated as he observes how the light inspires shadows and shades under the ridges of muscle that is Gon. 

 

 

“The Zoldycks are practically royalty, Freecss. Don’t push it, or you might end up—“ one of Gon’s teammates punctuates the sentence by drawing a line across his neck. Their part of the table explodes into laughter, which Killua makes quickly subside with a glare.

 

 

“Don’t tease, Pokkle,” Gon laughs as well, but there’s a strange, hard glint in his eyes. A _warning_. Pokkle raises both hands in submission.

 

 

Ultimately switching gears, Gon leans in towards Killua, too close for comfort, boyish smile back in place, looking like he’s about to say something but stops. 

 

 

And stares at Killua instead. 

 

 

Killua swallows hard. He wonders if the way Gon’s looking at him has something to do with how he himself looks. At the very least, Killua doesn’t think he’s _that_ bad-looking. Knows it from the way girls whisper when Killua passes them in the hallway, and from how their cheeks suddenly turn rouge when he glances. _So why is Gon still staring?_  

 

 

“Oi, earth to idiot,” Killua waves his hand in front of Gon’s face. “Stare much?” 

 

 

Gon snaps to attention, and seems to have recovered enough to smirk. “I like what I see, Your Highness. Do _you?_ ” Gon rakes a hand through the spiky tufts of hair, sweat effectively plastering it down. Killua swears he could hear more than a few girls sigh. 

 

 

_Fuck, that was good_. He’d even managed to incorporate Pokkle’s earlier comment. Though Killua’s current objective is to try and build immunity against Gon’s embarrassing remarks, the said person constantly makes it hard to do so.  Killua’s still not sure what to make of this occasional, flirtatious banter. He wonders if this was the usual for friends. 

 

 

Gon, as always, is in full color. Not one patch of his skin — its color warm, dark as wood, nearly golden — is blemished by the unbecoming lackluster of gray signifying the absence of hues. As it turns out, Gon experiences the same as well; able to see Killua not in patchy shades of gray and other tones but whole, as he should be. Neither of them understand it, and neither of them seem to want to.

 

 

_If they could see Gon in color_ , Killua thinks dryly, _those girls would definitely have something to sigh at._

 

 

“Maybe if you quit being such a _royal pain in the ass,_ ” Killua smirks, “then I’ll think about it.”

 

 

Gon blinks at him in surprise for a moment, then throws his head back in a fit of guffaws. Killua hides his smile around a piece of chocolate cake.

 

 

“Ah. Your puns are bad as always,” Gon leans over and plucks the cherry from the side of Killua’s plate.

 

 

“Yours are worse,” Killua shoots back calmly, grating his fork against the hard plastic of the table. “Anyway, you laughed. Your loss.”

 

 

“I don’t mind losing as long as it’s to you,” Gon winks. Killua’s tempted to punch him just to feel _something_ again, but he opts to grab his bag and stand up instead.

 

 

“I’ve got Physics in 5 minutes,” Killua says as a farewell.

 

 

“I’ll walk you.” Gon automatically stands up, but another one of his teammates interrupts.

 

 

“You’ve been missing out on too many practice sets, Freecss. Even the team captain doesn’t get immunity from extra gym time with the coach.” The other members nod mischievously.

 

 

“Go, dumbass,” Killua raises a hand, not looking behind him as he already makes his way towards the doors. “I’ll survive.”

 

 

“But Killua—“

 

 

The sound of the doors banging shut cut off Gon’s protests.

 

 

Killua makes it a few steps across the hallway before he finds his locker and slumps against it.

 

 

_Stupid_ _Forest_ _Boy_ , Killua grumbles inwardly as he twists the padlock open. He tries not to think too much of how Gon’s laughter sounded like, and how pleased he’d felt at the thought of being the cause for it. Curses himself for already missing his company when it hasn’t even been five minutes. Neediness is disgusting.

 

 

A few things tumble out of Killua’s locker as soon as he wrenches it open. Paper? No— _notes_ , Killua realizes.

 

 

The first is, unsurprisingly, from Gon. Asking to borrow Killua’s scientific calculator for their Chemistry quiz. Killua shakes his head and flips open the second note. He frowns, pulse racing at the words written hastily in shadow-black ink on crumpled paper.

 

 

“ _Meet us behind the bleachers. 5 pm._ ”

 

 

It’s unsigned. The handwriting is obviously not Gon’s, and it specifically states the pronoun “us”. Unless Gon has split-personality disorder, which Killua doubts. He can’t think of another person or group of persons who’d interact with him like this, much less guess the writers’ intentions. He’s kept to himself all this time, staying as low on the radar as he could. He could easily disregard this invitation — it has ‘ _suspicious_ ’ screaming all over it. Then again, it might be his group mates for that one Humanities project. But couldn’t they reach out to him in some other way?

 

 

The bell rings, and students come flooding out of the cafeteria and into their respective classrooms. Killua glances at the note once more and makes a decision. He folds up the note, stuffs it back into his locker along with a few other books, and heads to class as well, blending into the mass of moving limbs and feet.

 

 

Gotoh usually picks him up at six. Killua’s got time to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating so fast lols. Couldn’t keep my hands off of my phone. 
> 
> everything u leave on this fic is appreciated and loved <3


	8. Just Can’t Stay Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone talks to Killua. Conflicts arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a transitional chapter, but have fun! Next update might be an early Christmas present ;-)

 

 

Killua leans against one of the many poles serving as the foundation of the bleachers. Hidden in the shade that the structure casts in the late afternoon light, the Zoldyck watches the playground unseen from behind the gaps in the metal seats. 

 

 

Grade schoolers run and chase each other, feet kicking up whirlwinds of rustic dust that linger in the air for a moment, then disperse just as quickly. The swings look blue. The metal slide is a dull gray, though Killua’s not sure if it’s a color he can’t see, or just an effect of the many kindergartener limbs that have brushed against it. 

 

 

His watch reads 5:03. No one’s come yet. 

 

 

 _For someone so desperate to see me, they sure don’t show it,_ Killua thinks. 

 

 

_crunch—_

 

 

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he turns towards the shadows of the looming school building. He narrows his eyes as the sound of feet crushing gravel and sand draw nearer. Estimating from the sound, there are quite a few of them. _Avid school girls?_ Killua wonders. _No, the steps sound heavy. More like—_

 

 

Killua’s thinking is cut short by the appearance of numerous figures stepping into the dying light of the day. 

 

 

 _Ah. Basketball players._ Killua tilts his head in interest. 

 

 

 _Gon’s_ basketball players. But the team captain is nowhere to be found. 

 

 

Killua wonders if Gon is aware of this... little get-together. 

 

 

_Has Gon told them about us?_

 

 

The thought sends a sharp pang of betrayal in Killua’s chest. It is bewildering and unwanted. 

 

 

They’re even still wearing their jerseys, black as shadow with red as the color of his mother’s garish lipstick. ‘HUNTERS’ is printed proudly on the front, establishing their being part of the school’s varsity. Killua recognizes some— no, _all_ of them, given how much they and their team captain harass him on a daily basis at lunch and during free time. And from the stony expressions on their faces and the menacing crack of their knuckles, Killua guesses they’re not there to hang out and teach him how to play basketball. 

 

 

“Killua Zoldyck.” As his name rings out in the clearing, their seeming ringleader— Pokkle, Killua realizes — steps forward, hair the color of sand swept back. Disgusting. Out of the blanket of darkness, there are really only less. Seven, eight thuggish boys, give or take. He’s a bit offended; if they came here to do what Killua suspected, then they’d brought way too few jocks. Not enough to keep him busy, but Killua supposes they’ll do for a little entertainment. 

 

 

“Is this the part where I get shocked at how you know my name? Because, really — and I don’t mean to ruin the whole Sherlock-thing you have going on — it’s just shitty and overused.” Killua crosses his arms and leans against the bleachers lazily, the picture of nonchalance. There’s no questioning the tension in the air between the two parties, or the impending sense of a fight. There’s adrenaline filling his veins and his knuckles want to _bruise_ and limbs are aching to _hit._ He’s more than ready to throw down, but what Killua still doesn’t know is why. If he takes them on seriously, there’ll be more than a few casualties. But where the fuck is— 

 

 

As if noticing him look for the spiky-haired boy, Pokkle smirks. “Freecss isn’t here, I’m afraid. But he’s the reason why we are.” 

 

 

 _So Gon doesn’t know._ Killua is surprised at the sweet ache of relief. “Yeah,” Killua snorts, “even with him in charge, I doubt he’d let so much stupidity loose in one place.” 

 

 

“Speaking of stupid,” Pokkle growls, “didn’t think you’d actually come. Is Killua Zoldyck not as smart and brilliant as the professors say?” 

 

 

“Don’t flatter yourself— I had time to kill,” Killua drawls while inspecting his fingernails. “Now make it quick and tell me why you’re practically begging me to kick your asses.” 

 

 

“Little _fuck_ —“ Pokkle has to hold back one too-eager varsity member as he attempts to charge towards Killua and his taunts. 

 

 

“Hold it, Tonpa,” Pokkle glares, “that Zoldyck’s trying to mess with your mind. As if distracting the team captain wasn’t enough.” 

 

 

Killua blinks once. Then twice. And bursts into laughter as he pieces together the reason for half of the basketball team’s profound dislike for himself. 

 

 

“Hell, all this for Gon Freecss?” Killua shakes with burbling laughs. He can’t blame them, not really, knowing how the tan boy made for half of the team’s scored points in the state championship last year (people tended to talk in the cafeteria a lot). 

 

 

“Oh, don’t get us wrong,” Pokkle grins. “You know who was supposed to be team captain for the last two years running?” 

 

 

“No.” _You fuckwad_. Killua’s not sure what this has to do with him being accosted. 

 

 

“Yours truly.” Pokkle spreads his arms with an exaggerated flourish. “I transferred here, former star player of East Gorteau University, and who else but island boy Freecss shows me up in tryouts and knocks everyone of off their feet. Can you imagine that?” 

 

 

Killua could. “And I’m supposed to care because—“ 

 

 

“What we’re tryna say, pretty boy, is if you’ll be distracting team captain here, you might as well do a good job at it.” 

 

 

“Are you _stupid?_ How am I distracting?” Killua shakes his head instead. _Unbelievable_. “If anything, you idiots should get him a restraining order. I have this thing called a ‘need-for-private-space’, and your equally intellect-deprived team captain seems intent on ruining that as well.”

 

 

“Nah, you know Captain can’t do that. For some goddamn reason, he just can’t stay away from you.” Pokkle snorts, and the others behind nod their heads mechanically in agreement. 

 

 

_Just can’t stay away from you._

 

 

The phrase echoes in Killua’s ears, resonates in his chest. 

 

 

_Gon can’t stay away._

 

 

_Gon doesn’t want to._

 

 

He feels the telltale heat of a flush settling in his cheeks and he praises whatever deity there is above that the morons in front of him can’t see him blushing a terrible red. He just hopes the sun sets fast enough that they won’t notice his cheeks and ears darkening suspiciously.

 

 

“Yeah, so?” Killua hopes he has enough strength to hide the tremors in his tone. They might hear the giddiness in the cracks of his voice. 

 

 

“Maybe if you two _buddy up_ some more, Freecss can miss enough practices for the coach to notice, hopefully put him up for a demotion,” Pokkle suggests maliciously. “Maybe make him lose a game or two, eh, boys?” Laughs and jeers erupt on cue. “So, whaddya say, pretty boy?”

 

 

“First, call me pretty again, and I’ll rip your face off. Second, why would you want me to sabotage your star player? You’re shit without him.” Killua leans back again, teeth bared sharp in a grin, eyes dancing with held mirth. 

 

 

“Not if I’m team captain,” Pokkle sneers. “I can do what he does; it’s easy.” 

 

 

“Right. Sure. And what would I benefit from that?” Killua asks. 

 

 

“Well, it’s not like you like Gon, do ya? We’ve seen how you act. And when he finds out what you’ll have done, not even Sunshine Freecss here could forgive you— voila, he’s out of your hair! We’ll solve each other’s problems, easy.” 

 

 

And Killua is not ashamed to admit he thinks about it for a moment. 

 

 

He could, couldn’t he? When he’d first agreed to becoming friends with Gon Freecss, he didn’t really think it through, and now the consequences were catching up to his actions. If they actually stopped talking, it’ll certainly solve more than quite a few problems, not to mention the ridiculous soulmate situation. He wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally brushing up against Gon during one of their inane conversations. He wouldn’t have to deal with the stupid, fluttering feeling in his chest whenever Gon got too close. Without the basketball team harassing him during lunch, his breaks could consist of silence and chocolate cake slices once more. 

 

 

But that would mean... 

 

 

 _You don’t need friends, Kil,_ his eldest brother’s — Illumi’s — voice rings in his head, inducing nausea not for the first time. He thinks of Gon. He thinks of walks together to school, running late for a class, awkward shoulder bumps, terrible puns, and warm smiles. He thinks of trading all of those for a little bit of peace and quiet.

 

 

That would mean proving his family _right_. 

 

 

Killua realizes with a start that maybe a life of shadows and solitude isn’t what he needs. 

 

 

“Y’know, as tempting an offer as it is, I don’t think I’ll be able to cut ties with your idiot of a team captain after all,” Killua drawls in a bored but decisive tone. “He hasn’t even returned my calculator yet.” 

 

 

Pokkle narrows his eyes and makes a nodding motion with his head. The rest of the members spread out, effectively blocking Killua’s exit. “You have to, Zoldyck. Gotta prove the coach I’m better than Freecss’ll ever be.” 

 

 

“If that was the case, then you wouldn’t be asking me to do this, would you?“ Killua snorts. “Now move, basketball-for-brains. Or I’ll make you.” 

 

 

“How? You gonna sue us?” The other members jeer and laugh, pumping fists in the air. 

 

 

"Maybe after I beat the shit out of your fucking asses, sure." Killua drops his bag on the earth-packed dirt with a dull _thud!,_ the setting sun lighting his hair on fire, creating a hazy halo around his head. 

 

 

The other members glance nervously at Pokkle, clearly not expecting the white-haired teen to put up any kind of resistance. "All words," Pokkle spits in arrogance, "that's what you are, Killua Zoldyck. I don't even get why people are so scared of a brat like you. Take away those Jenny's, and what do you have?"

 

 

"A brain," Killua says testily. "And seeing as you intend to keep on irritating me, it's obvious you don't have one." 

 

 

" _Someone's_ got a mouth on him," Pokkle snarls menacingly, stepping forward, close enough for Killua to get a ghastly view of the gray flecks on his hideously mismatched skin. "Careful, I already told them to go easy on you. Wouldn't want that pretty face to get scarred, wou—" 

 

 

Pokkle drops to the ground without any warning. Killua's hand hangs in the air, suspended like the dust particles from the abrupt fall of the rat-faced basketball player, who still shows no signs of moving. The remaining members stare in unmasked shock. 

 

 

"Shit, I hit too hard," Killua looks down and flexes his fingers. "Who's next?" 

 

 

In their unswerving loyalty for the fallen ringleader, the basketball players snap back to attention and charge all at once like bulls, thundering and heavy and snorting. 

 

 

Killua grins, wild and unforgiving. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate pokkle my arrow boy for some reason idk.


	9. Ocean Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No fair  
>  You really know how to make me cry  
> When you gimme those ocean eyes  
> I'm scared  
> I've never fallen from quite this high  
> Falling into your ocean eyes  
> Those ocean eyes_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I forgot to clarify that in this AU my bbies are in Junior YEAR, not Junior High; I'm so sorry, the educational levels have got me confused. Whatever constitutes 11th grade in that universe. I mean, I think I've stated their ages in another chapter (both of em are around 17), so yeah, I guess that helps. 
> 
> p.s watch my boi zepile shine in here he deserves so much more attention 
> 
> pps. netero as principal and leorio as the school nurse/doctor are my fav tropes watch me overuse them
> 
> also I SLIPPED IN AN ANIME REFERENCE LOL ITS RLY KINDA OBVIOUS IF U WATCH BSD i love that show

 

It’s already 5 pm and Gon still can’t find Killua anywhere. He really hopes he hasn’t gone home, though. As smart as Killua is, Gon still thinks the prodigy would have a hard time finishing the assigned Physics problem set without his calculator, currently tucked into the front pocket of Gon’s bag. 

 

 

Whistling a long-forgotten tune, Gon trudges over to his bicycle, parked along with a few others near the playground where the grade schoolers run and traipse around. 

 

 

_orange, red, yellow, violet, pink—_

 

 

Afternoons are his favorite, especially dusk. It’s breathtaking to see all the colors coalesce in a matter of minutes just before the skies turn pitch black, as if amassing for one last show. Gon’s gotten pretty good at identifying colors, if only the basic ones. There’re still a million other variants he has no name for, including the particular shade of blue held in Killua’s eyes. Or the violet-like delicate veins dancing along Killua’s translucent skin and forearm. Or the shadows situated just under Killua’s full lip. Or— 

 

 

_Killua  Killua  Killua—_

 

 

Gon has to shake his head to clear his thoughts temporarily, taken over by a certain attractive soulmate. He leans down to unlatch his bicycle. 

 

 

_It’s happening again._

 

 

More than once now he’s caught himself inevitably carried away in daydreams of running his fingers through cloud-like hair, of feeling the ridges of muscle smothered by pale skin, and more than once he’s felt his heart race a bit too fast and the heat twist his guts below. Even after only a month, Gon now knows his attraction to his ethereal-looking soulmate is more than just of a physical kind, more than because he thinks Killua would look _really_ good in his sheets— not like the tempestuous, fleeting passion he’d felt with so many others. Empty, temporary pleasure brought by curious touches and a need to conform to what society dictates adolescents his age should be doing. 

 

 

But not with Killua. 

 

 

When he thinks of Killua, he thinks of going on dates. Of hot chocolate on wintry days. Of laughing so hard that they have to clutch each other to keep from falling although Gon already kind of has. His thoughts run wild, and he imagines lazy fingers trailing down naked backs. Of whispered sweet nothings while time stops for only the two of them in bed. No, Gon hadn’t even cared about such things before Killua Zoldyck came barging into his life (quite literally), but now he does, and this sweet kind of ache hurts beautifully. 

 

 

Knowing how much Killua hates the concept of soulmates, Gon had hoped that his staying away from the Zoldyck heir was enough to condition himself, but it obviously didn’t work. It’s kind of hard not to care when Killua laughs, peals of broken laughter sounding like bells. Or when Killua calls him something mean, the kindness in his too-blue eyes belying the sharp words that fall from his sweetly-shaped mouth. Or when—

 

 

 _ah_. 

 

 

Gon sighs as he walks alongside his bicycle, the low hum of the tires against the dirt doing little to cut through his thoughts. _Who am I kidding?_ He thinks sadly. Sometimes, though, Gon likes to pretend Killua feels the same way. Pretend that the Zoldyck is as conflicted about the erratic beating of his heart as Gon is. He can imagine it pretty well— almost too well. 

 

 

He can imagine it best when Killua flushes a whole new shade of red at the proximity of their faces. When he catches Killua’s glance lasting a second more than it should have. And especially when he does something stupid and Killua looks at him in that way, with an almost tender affection. 

 

 

In these stolen moments and a thousand others more, Gon can almost believe Killua likes him back. 

 

 

“Gon! Hey, Gon!” A weight suddenly crashes into his right leg and stays there. Gon realizes belatedly that the projectile clinging to his knee is a small girl. 

 

 

“Hey yourself, Kyouka.” Gon smiles out of instinct and reaches down to ruffle the wild, dark locks of his neighbor’s daughter. “Aren’t you supposed to be home by now? School’s been over for a while.” 

 

 

“You’re not my mom.” Kyouka sticks her pinkish tongue out in an impish smirk. 

 

 

“Nope,” Gon admits, “but I can call her to come get you.” He reaches into his bag, pulls out Killua’s calculator, and pretends to dial in a number. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Izumi,” Gon states cheerfully into the scientific calculator, “Kyouka here’s been _real_ —“ 

 

 

“I’m _not!_ ” Kyouka pulls at the fabric of his jersey shorts. “I was just watching some kid beat up a bunch of basketball players.” 

 

 

Gon raises an eyebrow in interest, tilting his head slightly. There were only two basketball teams in Padokea University, and Gon’s quite sure the women’s team isn’t going around picking fights. “You sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

 

 

“Nope,” Kyouka grins, “they were beat up and gray and black and their skin went dark like this—“ 

 

 

Interesting. 

 

 

“And where — ah — would they be right now?” Gon grunts as he tries unsuccessfully to dislodge the girl still stuck to his leg. 

 

 

“Behind the bleachers,” Kyouka nods in the direction of the playground. True enough, there seems to be some sort of movement going on in the shadows, too far for Gon to make out. 

 

 

It’s not the first time the basketball team’s gotten into fights; disputes with the football team happened every so often, although this is the first time Gon’s heard of it being one-sided, and not in his team’s favor. He supposes he’d better go help clean up. 

 

 

“What was that, Mrs. Izumi? Tell her to go home directly or else Atsushi’s getting her dessert?” Gon loudly speaks up again into the “phone”. 

 

 

Kyouka gives a shrill screech at the prospect of having her sweets given to her adoptive older brother and unlocks her limbs from their iron hold on Gon’s extremity. “Meanie. Bye, Gon!” She sticks her tongue out once more before her feet fly across the dust. 

 

 

Gon laughs and tucks the calculator back in his bag. He guesses Killua will have to wait for a while before he can return it. 

 

 

A crash in the direction of the bleachers makes his head swivel around. Gon sighs and heads for the alleged fist fight, dragging his bicycle along. 

 

 

_blue, red, green, that looks like orange—_

 

 

Ever since discovering a whole new world in spectrum, Gon’s developed a habit of reciting the colors mentally as a challenge. He knows Killua would call him an idiot for it, but it’s fun nevertheless. He actually doesn’t mind that there are large, static areas void of color almost wherever he looks; he likes to think of them as hues yet to be unlocked. _A game_. Though it’s a simplification of his and Killua’s situation.  

 

 

He passes the swings, a dull shade of what looks like blue. The metal slide looks gray, although Gon’s pretty sure it’s from the use. As he gets nearer, the yells grow louder— Tonpa’s guttural scream of frustration is annoyingly familiar. Gon wonders vaguely who in the world could be strong enough to give the basketball team a beating; his players practically live at the gym. Though not as large and burly as the steroid-dependent football team, the Hunters rarely lose in all-out physical confrontations. 

 

 

Of course, Gon’s sworn off of fighting himself, remembering only too easily what comes from his impulsive and misdirected rage. He clenches a fist and feels the worn-out, scar-ridden skin on his knuckles, a grim souvenir from his earlier violent days. 

 

 

 _This is why I can’t have nice things,_ Gon reminds himself silently and thinks of Killua. 

 

 

He turns a corner and finally reaches the mess behind the bleachers, and what he sees makes him stop in his tracks. 

 

 

And it’s not the sight of his basketball players — groaning and beaten and half-passed out on the ground — that makes Gon’s mouth hang slack. 

 

 

It’s the sight of a lone person standing like an avenging angel against the rays of the fading sun in the midst of bruised limbs and bodies that has his heart dropping in awe and in a terrible realization that his soulmate caused wreaked all this havoc on his team. 

 

 

On his friends. 

 

 

“Killua?” Gon rasps out, unbelieving of the evidence laid out before him. He lets his bicycle drop unceremoniously to the ground. Eyes the deepest shade of blue Gon’s ever seen and has yet to see look up at him. They’re still meters away, and Gon wants nothing more than to close the distance between them, even though he’s still not sure he understands the situation. 

 

 

“You fucker.” A raspy voice makes both of them turn as Pokkle comes up behind Killua. Something glints in Pokkle’s hand, and Gon doesn’t even have time to yell a warning before the basketball player takes a stab at Killua. 

 

 

But Killua is faster. And when he moves, Gon can’t look away. 

 

 

With a jab to his throat and a swift kick to the back of his knees, Pokkle is sprawled out once more on the ground, the serrated knife dropping just after a beat next to his face. 

 

 

There’s a _thud!_ that has Gon snapping back to his senses, and it’s actually the sound of Killua falling to his knees. To Gon’s immense shock, Pokkle’s actually managed to cut across Killua’s now-deathly-pale cheek, and a thin line of red wells up. Killua is slumped and shows no signs of moving. 

 

 

“ _Killua!_ ” Gon’s scream sounds faraway to his own ears. He instinctively runs toward his soulmate, forgetting for a moment about what Killua seems to have done, but a groan makes him stop. 

 

 

“Captain?” 

 

 

It’s Zepile, the oldest member of their team. Gon wants to punch something in his confusion— he _still_ doesn’t understand what happened, and nobody seems coherent enough to tell him. With the exception of Zepile. He looks at his teammates and back at Killua. Every cell in his body screams to hold the pale teen, but Gon forces himself to check on his teammates first. 

 

 

“Zepile. Zepile, wake up.” Gon gently pats the older boy’s cheek. “You okay?” 

 

 

“Ow. M’sorry, Cap,” Zepile blinks dazedly as he sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. Gon wonders why he’s apologizing. 

 

 

“No, I should’ve been here. Did— Did Killua...” Gon trails off hesitantly, not wanting to continue. He fears Zepile’s answer and the conclusion he might come to. Loyalty to those who are good, that’s what Gon has lived by. His teammates couldn’t possibly have done anything to deserve a beating this severe, and Gon can’t forgive anyone who’s cowardly enough to hurt good people. 

 

 

 _Not even Killua?_ A voice in his head whispers. 

 

 

It scares Gon that an answer doesn’t come right away. 

 

 

“I— yeah,” Zepile admits hesitantly. “It was that Zoldyck kid. But Gon—“ 

 

 

_No. I guess not even Killua Zoldyck._

 

 

Gon doesn’t even wait for him to finish. “Check up on the others,” he says coldly. “Get them to Leorio’s clinic, see if it’s still open.” _How could Killua have done this?_ Gon feels betrayed. 

 

 

He marches up to Killua, still sitting slumped on the ground, grabs him by the collar, and half-pulls him up from his kneeling position. He makes sure not to touch pale skin, not wanting any further distractions. Electric blue eyes snap open and stare up at him in surprise. His arms hang limply at his sides. There’s the barest tremble in Killua’s full lip, and Gon’s heart wrenches violently. The closeness of their faces is almost too intoxicating, and were it under different circumstances Gon would have leaned forward and sealed the gap between their mouths. _Attraction, passion, anger, rage_ — they swirl in a cesspool of emotions in Gon’s chest and he can’t _think_. 

 

 

“ _Why_ , Killua?” Gon’s voice shakes with his hand, still clenched around the fabric of Killua’s uniform. 

 

 

“Gon, wait—“ Zepile tries to cut through his anger, but Gon’s having none of it. _Killua_ had hurt his _friends_. 

 

 

_Hadn’t he?_

 

 

“Did you start it, Killua?” It comes out as a deathly whisper. “ _Did_ you?” He presses. 

 

 

Something akin to disappointment flashes across Killua’s face. The rare vulnerability in his eyes disappears in an instant, and a dull look settles in the blue recesses. “Would you even listen to me if I told you the truth?” 

 

 

“I— I—“ Gon wavers for a second, brow furrowing. “I don’t see how your answer can warrant beating up my friends.” 

 

 

 _But Killua’s your friend too._  

 

 

Killua blinks once. Twice. And he laughs. “Friends?” He says incredulously. “ _Friends?_ Are you really that much of a thick-headed idiot to believe that? I—“ 

 

 

“Are you even _human?_ ” Gon regrets the words as soon as they fly out of his mouth. It’s harsh and uncalled for but _Gon almost doesn’t care because he’s losing the fight he picked for his friends and he can’t risk having his belief in them proven wrong._

 

 

“So what if I’m not?” Killua spits out just as viciously without missing a beat. “I’ve never considered myself to be one. Though I almost thought for one _fucking_ moment that _you_ did.” The pale teen says this last part in a soft voice coated with an emotion Gon can’t identify. His heart breaks into fractures. 

 

 

“Gon, _stop_ it.” It’s a new voice. Gon recognizes it belonging to Colt, the newest recruit. He’s limping, one arm slung around Zepile’s shoulders for support. “We attacked him first.” 

 

 

 _Oh_. 

 

 

Gon glances behind him briefly, sighting Zepile assisting Colt and a few other members in getting to their feet. His wild gaze falls back to Killua, still held up in his hands. Killua stares back at him in defiant adamance, his ocean eyes unforgiving. There's crimson, red as the dawn, spilling over his cheek where the knife grazed him, and Gon thinks he's never looked more deadly or beautiful. 

 

 

_His pulse is rising and there are people hurt and he doesn’t know who to punish and he may have just driven off his soulmate permanently._

 

 

 _To hell with it._ Gon surprises the both of them by suddenly adjusting his grip so that his arms encircle Killua instead of choking him by the collar, and Killua gasps faintly in his hold. To his shock, the pale teen falls limply into submission.

 

 

_you're safe i'm sorry_

 

 

Gon crushes him to his chest in what he hopes his team would perceive as a platonic embrace. 

 

 

“Will somebody tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?” Gon’s quiet snarl echoes across the courtyard. There’s a beat of silence before someone pipes up. 

 

 

“Pokkle.” Zepile glances at the fallen ringleader, slumped unconscious on the ground, before continuing. “Pokkle caught some of us drinking that night — y’know, the one before our game with the Nostrade University — and managed to take pictures of us. He threatened to send them to Principal Netero—“ 

 

 

“Which would have resulted in your being kicked out of the varsity,” Gon concludes. "Unless you did something in return for him."

 

 

Zepile scratches the back of his head. "Ain't no secret that he wants your place, Freecss."

 

 

"And what does _Killua_ have to do with this?" Gon demands, dangerously quiet. At the sound of his name, Killua groans just beside his ear, reining in a shiver. 

 

 

Another member steps up front, rather heavyset and bulky even for the basketball team. "We waited for you to fail, you know? Get Pokkle in for a promotion? But you just can't seem to _quit being good_. You needed to be distracted." It's Nicholas, the greasy kid who actually serves as a decent small forward in their games. Gon recalls seeing him hanging out with Tonpa's gang. "And we figured, who better to distract you than pretty-boy Zoldyck here?" Nicholas says smugly, then winces as he clutches his oversized front. "Though we didn't expect him to be a _monster_." 

 

 

"You—" Gon begins, but Nicholas cuts him off with a derisive laugh. " _What?_ Do you really think you've any right to defend him when you practically did the same just a few minutes ago?" 

 

 

And Gon falls silent at that. _Because he's right and he doesn't deserve Killua anymore and—_

 

 

"Shut up, Nicholas." All heads swivel to face Zepile, who seems to have recovered well enough, slinging the last unconscious team member on a shoulder. There's something in his voice and posture that Gon has never seen before— _authority_. "Why don't you make yourself useful and pick up your boyfriend over there." He nods to Pokkle on the ground, who nobody seems to want to carry. Nicholas glares and proceeds to do so, assisted by Tonpa and a few others. 

 

 

Zepile and Colt and the remaining members face Gon standing in a line. Gon's body curls instinctively over Killua's, and god only knew how he looked right now— deranged, probably. "If you touch Killua again, I'll kill you." Gon knows it's not much of a threat given his and Killua's position, but it seems enough to make them take a few steps backwards. 

 

 

"Hey, easy there, Freecss," Zepile raises both hands in a submissive gesture. "We just came to say goodbye. At least, goodbye to the court for a while." And Gon must look even more confused because Zepile steps forward to hurriedly explain (quite a feat, given he has two fully-grown guys on his shoulders).

 

 

"We're turning ourselves in, Cap," Zepile offers a half-hearted smile and a shrug. "And we'll make sure Pokkle can't so much as touch a ball this semester." There's a pause, and then—

 

 

"Only if you're sure about this," Gon looks at each of them in turn. 

 

 

"Ah, it's the least we could do." Zepile grins and looks down quickly, then up at Gon again. "Listen, Gon, I'm so—"

 

 

"Don't." Gon shakes his head. "Don't be. I should've been there."

 

 

Zepile nods and swallows hard. "Well," he says finally, after an awkward pause, "we'll watch your games. Don't let us down, Cap." 

 

 

"As if," Gon says, one corner of his mouth curling into half a smirk. "See you around." He adjusts his grip on Killua, still slack in his arms, and feels something— _wet?_

 

 

A chorus of _'goodbyes'_ greets Gon's ears. "And tell Killua we're—"

 

 

But Gon doesn't hear exactly _what_ , because there's a ringing in his ears at the sight of red on his fingertips and blooming rapidly across the front of Killua's pristine, white uniform. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HENLO so I tried to make them as in character as possible, knowing how Gon’s misdirected anger can harm the people around him unintentionally, and i firmly believe Gon would have been loyal to his teammates first and foremost, and of course he’d be angry at the initial thought of someone tryna hurt them, even if that someone is Killua. Writing Gon is so difficult, honestly my sunshine boi is so messed up, so the future chapters might be Killua-centric. (lol also killua wouldn't even risk his pride by tryna explain that he was the one being attacked in the first place or is it just me) (also i wanted to take into consideration how gons moral compass is so twisted is that ok) (watch my typing get less coherent the longer i stay awake) 
> 
> so didja find the reference (im so sorry i was too lazy to think up names)
> 
> love lots, anything u leave here is appreciated xx


	10. R U MINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And the thrill of the chase  
>  moves in mysterious ways  
> So in case I'm mistaken  
> I just wanna hear you say you got me baby  
> Are you mine?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyye so you might've noticed the change in rating. i did it bc i think future chapters (not this one though, sorry) will hold detailed, uh, stuff. smut. whatever. so i just wanted to warn u conservative people that it might get graphic soon (whoo god i can't wait to see my awkward smexy writing). anyways, pls enjoy this humble belated xmas gift ! ily all

  

Killua wakes up staring at the sky.

 

At least, he thinks it is— he’s pretty sure the sky doesn’t have holes roughly patched-up with mismatched plaster. Unless he’s hit his head too hard.

 

Killua blinks again in the dim light, and he realizes he’s gazing up at the school clinic’s ceiling, blue and ugly (it never fails to marvel him, how his own eyes and the painted monstrosity above share the same color yet differ so much in tincture). The place is only too familiar; on more than one occasion he’s had to accompany Gon here due to the fact that the latter wouldn’t go willingly (for example, claiming that the twisted ankle he’d had was just a little ‘sore’ and didn’t hurt at all and proceeded to do jumping jacks while holding back what looked like tears) on his own.

 

 _Gon_ —

 

There’s a gasp elicited from Killua as he recalls the events from... earlier? He’s not sure what time it is. He sits up carefully, actions drugged and slow. The half-pulled away blinds surrounding his bed help obscure the otherwise harsh (white) fluorescent lighting. Straining his neck to look around with minimal movement because why did every bone in his body have to hurt so bad, he realizes there’s a window just behind his headboard and he peers through it. The slanted shades give him a limited view of outside, but everything on the grounds seems painted in colors of the night (he associates black and blue with this particular concept). Killua guesses it must be around seven in the evening.

 

He looks down at himself and is mildly surprised at why he’s still so sore; unblemished pale skin peeks out from the trademark striped, long-sleeved pajamas the clinic always makes its occupants wear. There don’t seem to be any visible marks. Honestly, he’s more concerned about who dressed him. He shudders in mortification at the thought of Leorio, the clinic’s resident doctor, removing his clothing and whatever dignity he might’ve had left.

 

Incoherent sounds coming from his left side startle Killua. Stiffening, he slowly swivels to where the noises originated.

 

It’s Gon, sitting on one of the adjacent clinic beds. Killua readies himself for the impending dramatic confrontation about earlier because it’s here, this is it, when he takes a closer look at Gon and realizes he’s —

 

 _sleeping_.

 

Killua sighs in relief, then in exasperation. He lets his eyes wander past the blinds and over the slumped figure on the other bed, wary and overthinking.

 

Gon’s arms are folded across his chest, head slowly being lulled downwards by gravity. The incoherent sounds Killua’d heard earlier were actually soft snores. Had Gon been waiting for him all this time, then? The Zoldyck heir would find the whole situation quite touching, were it not for the fact that Gon had practically implied that he was inhumane.

 

 _Stupid Killua,_ he thinks angrily, _the guy just called you a monster and you still—_

 

His soulmate moves slightly in his sleep and Killua instinctively feels his muscles tense in a flight-or-flee reaction, then relaxes as he sees it’s only Gon shivering. The shirtless basketball jersey he’s still sporting must not be much help with the cold. Killua tries not to stare so much at the rippling muscles of arms as the shadows cascade up and down with Gon’s every breath.

 

_No, the idiot just had to fall asleep directly under the blasted air conditioner._

 

Without thinking, Killua reaches out to throw the thin blanket over Gon’s torso.

 

_Shouldn’t even be doing this._

 

Thankfully, the distance between the beds consists of only a two-feet gap, easily spanned by throwing an arm to the side. Gon clutches the fabric to his chest unconciously, and the action makes him seem more childlike than ever, and so Killua wonders just where in the world did those harsh words come from because certainly they couldn’t have been from this sunlight of a person across from him. Pondering this, Killua leans back to lie down and—

 

 _shit_.

 

There’s a piercing pain in his left side, clearing his mind and _fuck why did he feel that all the way to his toes_. He grabs at his side, loses his balance and nearly falls off of the bed. His free hand flails through empty air until suddenly it’s not empty anymore, occupied by a strong shoulder and warm hands wrapped around Killua, keeping him upright.

 

“You really shouldn’t be moving, you know.”

 

The voice is too _near_ and Killua feels a breath washing over his face and it takes every ounce of dignity not to just melt in those arms that are around him but aren’t quite touching him. They hold him in a delicate way that makes Killua think he’ll shatter if any further pressure is applied.

 

In the sterile brightness of the room and its seemingly sole occupant (himself), Gon has never looked warmer and more lively.

 

Killua opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , because the sight of unmasked concern etched clearly on Gon’s attractive, sunburnt face is not doing wonders for his concentration but all that comes out is—

 

“Ow.”

 

“Told you.” Gon reacts accordingly with a smirk as he carefully guides Killua to rest propped up on a suffocating mountain of pillows. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, Killua,” he says, reaching down to pick up the blanket pooling at his feet.

 

“And _what_ was I doing, Freecss?” Killua shoots back, wincing a little as he adjusts his limbs.

 

“You must really like me to choose to freeze to death instead of keeping the stupid blanket for yourself.” Gon’s tone is bitter even as he laughs and draws himself closer. He hovers over Killua, all rugged strength and sun eyes, and Killua realizes a second too late that he needs only to lean forward and—

 

“There.” Gon pulls away from tucking the blanket around Killua’s shoulders and sits back down, eyeing Killua smugly with a look that suggested he knew what the pale teen was daydreaming of.

 

“You looked like you needed some warming up,” Killua mutters belatedly, curling into the blanket even further, still warm from Gon’s heat. He fights the flush in his cheeks because _what was that about?_

 

“I could warm you up.” Gon’s words and smile are as flustering and suggestive as ever yet his voice seems only half-hearted in teasing.

 

Killua, proficient in hand-to-hand combat and well-versed in about ten different languages, opts to reply with—

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Gon laughs. “Still, thank you. I appreciate the gesture.”

 

“Guess there’s some _human_ in me after all.” Killua can’t help the venom that leaks into his voice. It immediately sucks all the hesitant camaraderie from the room, a buzzing tension left in the bleak air.

 

“Ah. Straight to talking, huh?” Gon nervously breathes out a half-laugh in a futile attempt to bring back the previous mood, scratching at the nape of his neck.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Killua says coolly. Gon winces, worrying at his bottom lip with perfect, even teeth.

 

“No, just— I’m not good with words,” Gon stubbornly pushes, “but you have to know I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Killua.”

 

“Fat lot of good that does us now,” Killua replies as remorselessly as he can, even though he feels the apology beginning to poke a hole through his facade of cool nonchalance.

 

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Gon grits his teeth, “I don’t deserve y— that. You just have to know I’m sorry.”

 

Killua stays silent.

 

“It’s all my fault—“

 

“It sure as hell is!” Killua snaps.

 

“— and that’s why I’ll leave you alone,” Gon finishes, mouth set in a resolute grimace.

 

Killua stares in surprise. He hadn’t expected Gon to give in that easily, or even at all. Disappointment churns in his stomach, unpleasant and unsatisfying. It’s not like Gon at all, and so Killua allows himself this one tiny, slip-up of character when he says—

 

“No.”

 

Gon turns to blink in surprise. “Huh?”

 

“You don’t have to, uh,” Killua croaks, mouth suddenly dry, “you don’t have to do that. Go all melodramatic on me.”

 

“But I got you hurt. You must hate me now,” Gon whispers, head bowed.

 

“I sort of do, yeah,” Killua admits, and he wonders how he can feel so much contradictory emotions for one person. “But still... you brought me here, didn’t you? I owe you that, at least. Even if it is your fault I’m here in the first place. Fuck, that’s messed up.”

 

Gon exhales a laugh in what sounds like relief to Killua. “Don’t worry, they’ve turned themselves and Pokkle in. Good guys, really. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Gon— they jumped me because I refused to _‘distract’_ you from _hard work_ or _perseverance_ or whatever it is that makes good guys win in movies,” Killua scoffs.

 

“They were being blackmailed, Killua,” Gon says softly.

 

 _Ah_. “How—“

 

“By Pokkle. Wrong place, wrong time.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I should’ve been there,” Gon utters remorsefully.

 

“To clean up your helpless teammates?” Killua snorts.

 

“To protect you.”

 

Killua sucks in a breath. The uttered sentence does weird things to the shriveled-up, lump of a heart inside his chest. “I don’t need you protecting me.”

 

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out!” Gon’s temper and voice rise in unison, his words heated. He leans forward and runs a hand through his hair exasperatedly, spiking up the already wild locks even further. “You— you got hurt real bad, Killua. I wanna be there to protect you because I can. And if it’s something you’re not comfortable with telling me, I don’t mind!”

 

Killua narrows his eyes in suspicion. “This isn’t about the cut on my cheek, is it?”

 

“I, um.” Gon scratches at the nape of his neck sheepishly.

 

 _Oh_. Killua lifts up the cloth all the way up to his chest and touches his left rib cage experimentally, gently feeling the bandages wrapped carefully all the way around his torso. He doesn’t miss the way Gon stares at his exposed stomach, and how he glances away quickly. “Did you—“

 

“Yeah, I— sorry. They didn’t have anything other than the pajamas, and I put your uniform in your backpack, over there. Thought you’d rather have me do it than Leorio, though he taught me how tie the bandages.”

 

“So you saw.” Killua affirms it grimly. It’s not a question, and Gon knows it.

 

“Yeah.” Gon bites his lip, and it’s amusing to see how guilty he looks.

 

“Well, no use in hiding it now.” Killua smoothly takes off the long-sleeved shirt in one fluid motion, blanket pooling to his waist, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side.

 

“Killua, you don’t have to—“

 

“You’ve already seen them. Shut up and listen for a second.”

 

 _Scars_.

 

Killua sits still as Gon runs his eyes all over his upper body, feels Gon’s gaze linger on the rough, distinct marks engraved on his own pale skin, running down all the way to his back. Some small, some long, mostly deep— the scars weave an integral part of Killua’s childhood, one not easily forgotten. Not that the bits of raised skin were ever aesthetic but in the past, void of color, Killua hadn’t really bothered with them. In the mirror, they were simply part of the grayscale landscape that was his physique. But now, under the all-seeing gaze of Gon, Killua has never felt more exposed or vulnerable, baring these grotesque parts to an outsider in his story.

 

“I didn’t put them there, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Killua says hastily, guessing what was running through Gon’s mind.

 

“Then who did?” Gon whispers, tense anger in his voice like a clenched fist.

 

Killua laughs humorlessly.

 

“My family.” He doesn’t make an attempt to meet Gon’s eyes, not wanting to find the judgement he knows awaits there, so he keeps his gaze downcast as he continues.

 

"Your— but Killua, how could they—" Gon sputters. 

 

"They wouldn't even have had us if they didn't need someone to carry on the business."

 

"Ah."

 

"Ah? Just _ah?_ " Killua raises an eyebrow at how readily Gon accepts the explanation.

 

Gon shrugs. "Can't say I don't understand you. My dad left me to focus on his job, even though it's supposed to be the other way around. Never knew what happened to my mom. He gave custody to my aunt, Mito, who brought me up alone, and I love her more than anything nowadays." 

 

 _Pot, meet kettle._ Killua admires at how Gon can so easily throw out proclamations like that. "You're lucky to have her, then."

 

"I am," Gon agrees, and there's a tenderness present in his face that Killua has never seen before. It makes him feel a rush of affection for the woman who single-handedly raised Gon. "Oh! Sorry, I got carried away." Gon sheepishly laughs. Killua smiles a bit and continues. 

 

“We’re trained at a young age to be suitable components in our family’s line of business. No, it’s _not_ the drug trade,” Killua scoffs, answering the sought-out question in Gon’s eyes. “Though it’s fun when people presume that. Much more interesting than saying my father actually owns an oil corporation spanning three generations and that my mother is an elite socialite. For some god-forsaken reason, they seem to think I’ll inherit the business.”

 

“As potential heir, I have to act as such,” Killua quotes his mother with the practiced fluency of someone who’s heard it all his life. “And when I don’t, well...” Killua gestures vaguely to his own body.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Killua waves away Gon’s obvious concern with an airy gesture of his hand. “I heal quick.”

 

“Then what about that one?” Gon nods to the neatly wrapped injury on Killua’s exposed stomach. “I’d say that looks pretty fresh. And _unhealed_.”

 

“Your point is?”

 

“I— I kinda lost it when you bled behind the bleachers.” Gon’s voice is hushed and small in reminiscent of something terrible. “I thought Pokkle had stabbed you in the side. There was a lot of blood, Killua.”

 

“Yeah, and no thanks to that dipshit who managed to land a lucky kick to my ribs,” Killua scowls, tentatively probing the bandaged area. Remembering the sensation of a scar just beginning to heal being ripped open again isn’t something he wants to focus on right now.

 

“This one, I got last week from my mother. Ah, and it was already almost healed.” Killua winces as his fingers prod a little too hard.

 

“What for?” Gon asks curiously.

 

“Huh?”

 

“What’d you get it for?”

 

“You say that like it’s a medal. _'Get it for?_ '” Killua barks out a laugh, but when he sees Gon’s earnest expression, he sighs and relents.

 

“My mother found out that I got into a fight with the Nakaharas’ eldest son.”

 

Killua remembers the dark recesses of the Zoldyck Manor, remembers the sting of the barbed whip slashing across his back and sides as it echoes in the enclosed chamber. It was a pretty light punishment, as Killua had given the excuse that he had Physical Ed the next morning and couldn’t afford to be badly hurt. His mother, Kikyo, had surprisingly conceded.

 

“You’ve been getting into a lotta fights lately, Killua,” Gon clicks his tongue in an annoyed fashion. “Don’t tell me you started it.”

 

“Of course not, dammit. Things got heated after I refused to, uh, go to a fancy dinner party with him.” Killua’s not sure why he’s so embarrassed about recounting this in front of Gon. “Fucking pansy kept floating around while fighting, it wasn’t easy, too.”

 

The Nakahara family owned an airline with the same name; Killua doubts he’ll have to explain it to Gon. Unbeknownst to Gon, they’re also potential investors in Killua’s father’s company. He’s rewarded as Gon’s dark eyes widen in recognition of the prominent family name, then narrow as another thought occurs.

 

“Bastard. Did he— did he try to force you to come?” There’s no mistaking the anger in Gon’s voice. _But is that jealousy or—_

 

“That’s what you got out of what I said?” Killua shakes his head. “He did, at first.” Killua clenches his fingers into a fist, remembering how good it had felt to connect a blow to that jackass’ jaw, watching as hair the shade of blood (the only thing vividly colored about him) fly out of a fedora.

 

A _fedora_. Really. Killua would never understand teenagers his age these days.

 

“At first?” Gon prods.

 

“As they say,” Killua grins weakly at Gon, “you should’ve seen the other guy.”

 

Gon doesn’t grin back. “I hope you’ll be more careful next time.”

 

“Isn’t that my line, Freecss?” Killua doesn’t appreciate the irony, for once. Neither does Gon, who unabashedly looks Killua up and down, silent and wary. Killua suddenly remembers how _shirtless_ he is in the presence of his soulmate.

 

“They’re hideous, I know,” Killua glances away as he tugs the long-sleeved shirt back on and self consciously brings the blanket back around his shoulders, concealing the scars from Gon’s view.

 

 _Monster_. Killua waits for the judgement as he locks stares with the boy in front of him.

 

Instead, all he sees in Gon’s eyes is fierce resolve to do _something_ and underneath that, something akin to _hunger_.

 

“They’re not.” Voice soft and musing, Gon scoots forward on the edge of his bed so that his knees touch Killua’s, warm even through Killua’s pajamas. “They’re part of you, and you’re not hideous.”

 

Killua has to hold back a sharp inhale— he’ll _die_ first before he’ll let Gon notice how much that little sentence affected him. It’s a sweet sentiment, and Killua’s barely had any directed at himself, if his life is anything to go by.

 

“Yeah, well,” Killua clears his throat, absentmindedly running his fingers across the marks on his side, the rough edges distracting his fingers from wanting to touch Gon, “they’ll be there unless I follow my parents’ wishes. Which I’m not planning to do anytime soon.”

 

Gon is silent. Thinking. When Gon got like that, heaven only knew what went through his mind, much less Killua. He stays troublingly quiet for so long, so much so that after a moment Killua slowly asks—

 

“Gon?”

 

“Killua.” Gon looks up. There’s a strange, determined look in his eyes that contain fractals of the light.

 

 _Oh no_ , Killua readies himself for the impulsive whatever he knows is about to come surging out of Gon’s mouth. That expression of Gon’s is only too familiar, and Killua’s only proven right when—

 

“This is _exactly_ why I need to protect you!” Gon declares, sounding almost pleased that he’s found an excuse.

 

“This again? Really?” Killua groans, rubbing at his eye with the heel of one hand tiredly. “I trained in _krav maga_ when I was _five_ , Gon.”

 

“I’ve hurt people too, Killua,” Gon says lowly. Killua doesn’t doubt it; the scars on Gon’s knuckles and arms almost rival the ones on his own torso. The way the senior students, huddled with their respective gangs, avert their eyes when Gon and his team pass by is enough proof of past feuds settled in the team captain’s favor.

 

“That’s not the point here!” Killua throws up his hands in irritation.

 

“You’re right— people need to know you’re with me,” Gon muses thoughtfully.

 

“Wait, what?” Killua snaps after the words settle like a stone dropped at the bottom of a lake.

 

He can see Gon struggle with some internal conflict. “If— if— maybe if we were together, I could protect you from stuff like this.”

 

Killua feels his head swim before he’s even aware of the implication of Gon’s words. “Gon— what’re you—“

 

“Be with me, Killua.”

 

“You idiot,” Killua hisses, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his traitorous heart. “Do you even know what that means?”

 

“Killua, I’m not a kid.” In contrast to his indignant reply, Gon crosses his arms and pouts. _Pouts, for fucks’ sakes._ It’s almost adorable.

 

“Then _Gonnn_ ,” Killua enunciates his words slowly and carefully in all sarcasm, “two people enter into a re-lay-shun-ship when they like each other. L-I-K-E. And us? We don’t—“

 

And Killua stops right there and then when he sees what he thinks is the world’s eighth wonder.

 

There’s something blooming in Gon’s cheeks, which Killua realizes with shock is heat. A _blush_.

 

Gon Freecss is _blushing_.

 

It looks like it’d be warm to touch, the heat dusting his brown skin in flushes of pink.

 

“Gon?” Killua rasps, mouth suddenly dry, feeling a rash of heat of his own creeping up his neck and collarbone.

 

"I— I didn't— I meant—" Gon's flustered, broken sentences aren't helping Killua's Gon-addled brain. 

 

_We don’t like each other, right?_

 

“It could work, Killua!” Gon seems to have recovered enough to blurt out, “If the whole school thinks we’re in an actual relationship, my teammates would stop bothering you. I mean, most of them turned themselves in, but a few still—“

 

“No! I don’t want that.” Killua slams a fist on the hard bedding in his anger, the mattress creaking in protest. _I don’t want to be your way of atonement._

 

“But Killua—“

 

“The apology was enough; don’t you _dare_ drag me into this if you just feel guilty about what you’ve done.”

 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do at all!” Gon yells, equally frustrated. “Why won’t you let me help you?” Gon’s voice softens with his eyes, moving even closer so that Killua can see the lines etched with worry crinkle on his brow.

 

“Why do you care so much anyway?” Killua whispers, feeling the fight drain out of him as he slumps forward. Gon’s face is merely inches away from his now and he’s not sure why they’re still shouting.

 

“Because you deserve to be cared about, dummy." Gon’s coaxing voice is enough to make Killua melt in itself, but the words make the pale teen tremble with the weight of their goodness. "You're amazing, wonderful, smart—”

 

"And you're embarrassing!" Killua snaps and shuts his eyes. He's pretty sure the effect Gon has on him has something to do with being deprived of a normal, cared-for childhood— how he instinctively craves for anything that walks in the light. It's all so new to him, being — dare he say it — cared for without any underlying intentions or second-handed sentiments. It makes Killua scared, really, wondering if there's anything he wouldn't do for this boy who's turned his life upside down in a matter of months. 

_Stupid soulmate thing._

 

 

And then Killua wonders if his brain must be god because it surely worked in mysterious ways, specifically when he opens his mouth and— 

 

 

"No, I don't want to date you." Killua's not sure he'd actually said it out loud until he sees Gon's face twist briefly with hurt. _Hurt_. He'd hurt Gon Freecss with a lie. His _soulmate_.

 

 

 _You're_ _scared_ , Killua's conscience says accusingly. _Yet you want him. You want him, and when you finally get the chance to have him, you chicken out._

 

 

 _But I can't have him,_ Killua thinks in defense. _Not really. This doesn't count._  

 

 

 _In a fight, if your win is not guaranteed, you must run,_ Illumi's voice rings in Killua's head. And as Killua looks at Gon's face, remembers Gon's proclamations, he recognizes this as a fight warring between want and self-preservation in his aching heart which he cannot hope to emerge unscathed. Killua doesn't think he could survive falling even more for this stupidly attractive, kind, and oblivious team captain. He's spent all his life alone, and just being in a platonic relationship with his _soulmate_ of all people has thrown his life off-kilter. If he and Gon got involved even further, Killua's sure it would be the death of him. It's probably best for both of them. He's never been good at being selfish anyway, because since when did he ever get what he actually wanted?

 

 

“I’m sor—” Killua begins, but stops immediately when Gon holds up a hand. _Don't_. The grimace twisting his handsome features disappears all of a sudden. A thin-lipped smile breaks out on Gon’s face, appearing just as quick. But it’s not a smile Killua’s familiar with; it seems almost... _cold_. Which is one word he would never think to associate with Gon Freecss. 

 

 

“It’s alright, Killua. I understand.” 

 

 

Gon’s words are kind but clipped and formal, and Killua can’t shake the feeling that he’s done something irreparably wrong. He wonders if it's a matter of pride for Gon, being turned down like this, or if it's something more... Killua shakes his head. Whether Gon likes him or not doesn't matter, and neither does he have the luxury of pondering such things. 

 

 

Gon already feels too far, but there’s leniency shown when he remarks in a light-hearted tone—

 

 

“But I really do wanna protect you, Killua. So, please, won’t you let me?” 

 

 

And he wants to cry right there and then because there is grace in Gon even in submission and it’s far too _good_ for Killua to comprehend. There’s heat behind his eyelids and—

 

 

 _shit_. 

 

 

A drop rolls down his left cheek without warning and he tries to subtly wipe it off with his shoulder sleeve. He feels Gon’s eyes on him, but the team captain makes no move to acknowledge Killua’s breakdown. Out of politeness, perhaps. Killua’s not sure if he’s grateful or annoyed. 

 

 

“Yeah, okay.” Killua relents in a whisper, furiously rubbing at his eyes with the back of his arm. “Okay.” 

 

 

“Okay,” Gon repeats with a short, relieved laugh and as they look at each other, the tension eases a little. “So... how’d you wanna do this?” 

 

 

 _Time_ _for_ _business_. An idea suddenly pops into Killua’s mind. “I think— I think at school, we can maybe... do things together... without _actually_ being together. Like that,” Killua adds hastily. He’s afraid of seeming like he wants to rub salt in Gon’s wound, but it’s the best plan he’s got. 

 

 

Gon doesn’t seem to quite grasp it yet. “Either I’m having a stroke, or you’re not making sense, Killua,” he frowns. 

 

 

Killua rolls his eyes. “What I’m saying is, we can act stuck to each other without establishing a romantic relationship. It’s called—”

 

 

“Friendship,” Gon finishes thoughtfully. “But wait, my teammates attacked you even though they already knew I hung out with you.” 

 

 

“We just have to sell it better,” Killua declares confidently. “Taking breaks, eating lunch, making fun of Coach Bisky during Phys Ed, doing stuff like that together. I mean, even more so than usual. So everyone would notice and, as you said, hopefully stop being such little shits about it.” 

 

 

“That sounds perfect,” Gon grins. Killua is more than relieved; it almost feels like they’re back to their normal, easy-going selves. “More than half the team’s gone, anyway, and the ones left are from Tonpa’s old gang— I doubt it’s fun to hang around with guys who hate you.” 

 

 

“Mmm. Looks like you’re stuck with me, Freecss,” Killua teases. 

 

"But what if the whole school thinks we're something more?" Gon's voice sounds almost _hopeful_. Killua thinks he's the one about to have a stroke. 

 _Would you want that?_ Killua wonders. "They can think whatever they want as long as I get left alone."

"I think you just want an excuse to have me around, Killua," Gon smirks, back to his confident self.

Killua doesn't falter as well. "I don't think I need one."

And it's Killua's turn to smirk slyly as Gon's grin, for once, is wiped off of his smug face. Their knees are still touching, faces centimetres apart, and it's a miracle Killua hasn't fainted yet.

 

"We should probably move." Gon eyes wander Killua's face as if searching for something. 

"Probably," Killua admits. He licks his lips nervously, and he doesn't miss how Gon's eyes dart to his mouth.

_Friends, huh?_

Gon laughs, the motion bringing them closer, their shared air growing shallower. "We're lucky Leorio's clinic's still open, looks like we'll be here all—"

  
“Still open, my _ass!_ ” A voice barks out angrily. Harsh fluorescent light floods Killua's part of the ward, and as the blinds are pulled back completely, Killua pulls away as well with an urgency that is almost embarrassing. Gon, on the other hand, is delighted.

 

 

"Leorio!" 

 

 

"Gramps," Killua acknowledges the presence of the clinic's resident doctor grudgingly with a nod. Tall, lanky, loud, with spiked hair that could rival Gon's, Killua has seen more of Leorio Paladiknight this past month than he'd ever want to. While Leorio and Gon share an unlikely friendship thanks to Wonder Boy Freecss' frequent visits, Killua opts to annoy the doctor instead. It's more fun. 

 

 

"Brats! D'you know what time it is? Just because I'm a fresh graduate doesn't mean you get to treat me this way!" Leorio angrily pushes his ridiculously small sunglasses up to perch on his nose. The effect is almost comical. 

 

 

"You don't look that fresh to me," Killua remarks innocently. "What're you again— thirty? Thirty-five?' 

 

 

"I'm twenty-four and I don't give a single shit if Gon here's your boyfriend, I'll throw you out." 

 

 

There's an insult stuck in Killua's throat. "How much did you h—"

 

 

"Thanks for waiting for us, Leorio!" Gon interrupts, unfazed in the face of someone about to murder them for— for whatever it is they'd been doing behind the blinds. 

 

 

Leorio swivels around to face the teen. "You forced me to reopen my clinic just as I was timing out!"

 

 

"I _asked_ rather urgently," Gon corrects him as he leans down to fidget with something, "and you didn't say no, by the way." Killua belatedly realizes Gon's trying to slip his sock-covered feet in his shoes. 

 

 

 _This_ — _this_ _is_ _a_ _friend_ _thing_ , _right?_  

 

 

"Gon, at least let me change into my unif— _oh shit, I have to get home!_ " Killua pushes away Gon's arms and in the harried moment forgets he's not supposed to. Gon gasps minutely as long, tapered fingers brush against hard muscle. Killua hides it better, hissing through his teeth as he sees the bedsheets turn a floral yellow (tacky), or at least he thinks so until he hears Leorio pipe up behind them. 

 

 

"What was that? Did you hit each other?" Leorio runs his eyes over the pair suspiciously. 

 

 

"I— uh, Killua accidentally scratched me." Gon lifts his forearm to show a line slowly blooming pink under honey skin. _Huh, good thing I forgot to cut my nails,_ Killua exhales in sweet relief. Lately, they haven't been doing an exemplary job of hiding their... _situation_. 

 

 

"Agh. I'll get some rubbing alcohol from the stock room. Stay there and don't make any more trouble." Leorio jabs a finger in both their directions. Gon raises a hand to his forehead in salute. Killua raises his middle finger. The doctor stalks out of the room, muttering choice obscenities Killua would've been proud of were it not directed at them. 

 

 

"So I kinda forgot to tell you," Gon grunts as he places Killua's backpack beside him, "your brother, I think? Texted you. Said you could go straight home on your own, as G—Gow—Gowtoo— whatever, he and a few others drove your parents to a meeting. Sorry if I peeked at your notifs, I was worried about you getting in trouble with your family." 

 

 

Killua snorts and clicks open his phone and, sure enough, there's a stream of messages from Illumi, matching what Gon had explained. _Gotoh, probably with Canary, drove Mom and Dad. That_ _leaves Milluki and Kalluto at home,_ Killua analyzes, _since Illumi probably has night classes in law school._ He sighs, turning off his phone and cutting the brief illumination across their faces. "S'alright, thanks. My siblings don’t care whether I get home or not, anyway." 

 

 

Killua stands to grab his backpack from the foot of the bed, already regretfully thinking of the dinner he's missed out on. Tsubone prepares the _best_ chocolate mousse on Fridays, he remembers. He'll just have to buy dessert from the convenience store on the way home. Maybe hit up a _taiyaki_ stand as well. 

 

 

"So, Killua...” Gon trails off purposefully as he gets to his feet as well and stretches. 

 

 

“Yeah?” Is Killua’s distracted reply as he shoves his stuff back in his bag in disarray. 

"Does this mean I can walk you home?"

 

 

Killua stops haphazardly shoving school supplies into his backpack and turns to Gon in surprise. "You— you want to?" 

 

 

"Um, I think I just said I did," Gon laughs.

 

 

"But as friends, right?" Killua dares to tease. He realizes his mistake when Gon's eyes flutter downwards and _oh shit maybe that wasn't the best thing to say fucking stupid shit I should've joked about something else._ He's afraid he's gone too far for one second when Gon breaks out into a dimpled grin. 

 

 

"Whatever you say, Killua," Gon winks. _Winks_. Killua wonders if there'll ever come a time when he'll finally be immune to Gon's flirting or his smiles or just _Gon_ in general. But he guesses today isn't the day. 

 

 

"So... can I?" Gon steps forward hopefully, tilting his head to one side. 

 

 

And with Gon smiling like that, rivaling all the breathtaking colors Killua’s ever seen, how could he say no?  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hELLO cue killua zoldyck romanticizing everything !! especially!! gon!! they’re going to be the deaths of each other i shit u not fellas 
> 
> i’m so sorry i keep inserting bungou stray dogs references i just love that show to death ok 
> 
> anything u leave here is appreciated! (especially constructive criticism)
> 
> ily have a blessed new year’s <3 will update as soon as school stops draining me of my will to live


	11. I Don't Know What To Do Without You, I Don't Know Where To Put My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't need the world to see  
>  That I've been the best I can be, but  
> I don't think I could stand to be  
> Where you don't see me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it me im bacc to ruin ur lives. also, check out this song from [mitski](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7IOaL3U9jM), it's where i got the title.

 

 

“Ready, Killua?”

 

 

“Nope. Let’s do this.”

 

 

Gon grins, and, with an exaggerated flourish, opens the door to the humble Freecss abode.

 

 

From the outside, it looks almost run down and wild, like a cabin from a fairy tale, but the interior is meticulously well-kept. The house isn’t large. It’s not like the Zoldyck Manor, where one’s footsteps would echo across the ridiculously grandiose and empty hallways. At Killua’s home, bumping into any other family member is a rare occurrence. There’s a second level that seems to be reserved for the bedrooms. Inexpensive but tasteful wooden furniture occupies the living area made warm by a crackling fireplace. There’s steam wafting from the kitchen, enticing and soft.

 

 

Gon’s house is small. Cozy. _Perfect_.

 

 

The smell of _chocolate_ and _baking_ instantly sweep Killua off of his feet, and that was _before_ seeing the dog.

 

 

“Kon? Hey!” Gon kneels on one knee as a mountain of a Labrador bounds up happily towards them, tongue lolling out and all.

 

 

 _Mike_ , Killua thinks sadly. It’s the ghost of his childhood dog in flesh, assaulted by playful rubs and pats from Gon’s gentle hands. It was the first time Killua, at seven years old, had ever let himself get attached to a guard animal. Also understandably the last, given that his mother had given Mike to the ‘shelter’ to ‘sleep for a while’ when the canine’s front leg broke neatly in two and his other feet wobbled with the effort of keeping himself up.

 

 

 _Family safety, dear— he can’t protect us in that state. But you understand, don’t you?_ Kikyo’s voice is sickly sweet and goading even in Killua’s memory.

 

 

“Killua?” Gon’s hands have stilled on Kon the Labrador, a concerned expression etched on his face. “You’re sad.” It’s not a question. The dog sniffs in agreement.

 

 

“No, I—“ Killua blinks and shakes his head, “your dog. Mine looked exactly just like him.” He tries for a weak grin and tentatively touches Kon’s quivering nose. Killua gets a lick on his palm in return. “Ugh,” he laughs genuinely now, “yep, definitely like Mike.”

 

 

“What happened to Mike?” Gon looks around, as if expecting to see the dog come running.

 

 

“He broke his leg during an exercise.”

 

 

“Ah.” Gon’s mouth purses in sympathy. “That’s terrible. Sorry you had to see him that way.”

 

 

“Oh, I didn’t get to,” Killua shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, “see Mike, that is. My parents got him euthanized when he couldn’t run anymore. Told me his purpose was done anyway.” Killua wonders bitterly if he and his siblings would come to a similar end once they’d denounced the goals his mother had set for them. (Not that Illumi and Milluki would ever. Kalluto, he’s not sure. Alluka, definitely. He may have to run away with her someday. But right now, Gon’s voice commanded Killua’s attention.)

 

 

“You can come here whenever you like, if you ever feel like having Kon lick your hand.” There’s a sad, tight smile on Gon’s face which Killua recognizes as frustration against the Zoldycks— frustration at not being able to do anything to change the less-than-pleasant events of Killua’s childhood. After a few months of being around Gon Freecss almost 24/7, Killua’s got his expressions down to pat. Then again, Gon isn’t exactly the most closed book in the library.

 

 

“Who needs a slobbering mess when I’ve got you, Freecss?” Killua snickers and kneels as well, hands burying themselves in the brown, voluminous, thick fur of Kon. “Oh _wow_ , he’s really warm. Scoot over.”

 

 

“So mean,” Gon mutters as he sits back on his haunches, letting Killua do the petting, but there’s no mistaking the delighted smile on his face. “Does that mean I get pats from you too?”

 

 

Killua’s hands stutter for a beat but his voice remains steady. “You get a punch if you’re lucky.”

 

 

“Kinky. Ow— _hey!_ ” Gon winces as Killua indeed delivers a swift blow to his chest— a retaliatory one.

 

 

“Gon?” A voice, light and feminine, calls out from the kitchen, accompanied by the clanging of several pots and pans. Killua turns to the person in question, eyebrow raised.

 

 

“That’ll be Aunt Mito.” Gon lets out a whistle, standing up and shoving his hands into the pockets of his forest-green shorts. “Wonder how much trouble I’m in today?”

 

 

Gon offers out a hand for Killua to take and stand up, but Killua, as usual, overthinks and messes it up completely by staring at the proffered limb for too long until Gon finally withdraws his arm. Killua gets on his feet smoothly with a shaky breath. He can’t read Gon’s expression because he won’t even look at him.

 

 

“Gon Freecss,” the voice grows nearer and more irritable, “you better get over here, or so help me—”

 

 

The appearance of a middle-aged woman stills both parties. Hair the most brilliant shade of sunset Killua’s ever seen is cut in messy, short locks that frame the woman’s face. An equally bright red duster flares below her knees, hidden behind an apron. A pie and a tray of brownies are balanced on each respective hand. She has Gon’s mouth, twisted in a sterner version. Gon’s eyes look startling on another person; the woman in front of them has the very same ones, fierce and brown, lit gold in the afternoon light (Killua’s proudly done some research and has concluded that Gon’s eyes are a shade of what is called _hazel_ ).

 

 

Those eyes shift to Killua immediately, wise and piercing. “Young man, hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?”

 

 

It takes Killua a beat to realize the question is directed at _him_. Mortification settles in his cheeks in the means of a flush, and he stammers out an apology. There’s a sound mingling amidst his own stuttering, and Killua realizes it’s _laughter_ from the flame-haired woman who must be Gon’s aunt. _Mito_.

 

 

“I’m kidding,” Mito says as her gentle laughs subside. Frankly, Killua’s amazed how she can still balance both trays of pastries. “You look sweet. I’m Mito, Gon’s aunt. I hope he at least managed to tell you that,” Mito frowns in Gon’s direction as the other boy stealthily tries to sneak a piece off of the pie crust. “Killua, right?”

 

 

“Yes. Ma’am,” Killua hastily adds. “How did you—“

 

 

“Know?” Mito finishes his sentence. “Your family’s pretty well-known in these parts.” (Killua wonders if by ‘in these parts’ she actually means the _whole island_.)

 

 

“Also,” Mito adds, “Gon hasn’t been able to shut up about you since the past few months. Tch, and it’s taken him this long to invite you, too. I’m embarrassed!” Mito clucks like a ruffled hen while Gon tries to placate her with soothing words that go over Killua’s head because all he can think about is _Gon hadn’t been able to shut up about him_.

 

 

“Not true,” Gon grumbles good-naturedly. Gon’s freckle-dusted cheeks darken with embarrassment, and Killua has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing because it’s almost too damned cute.

 

 

“Since you’re here early, you can help me set the table. No, not _you_ , Gon Freecss,” Mito stops her nephew by putting out the hand that held the pie, blocking his way. “Not until you change your clothes.”

 

 

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Gon frowns and looks confusedly down at himself.

 

 

Killua instinctively snorts and somehow Mito meets his gaze with an impressive eye-roll of her own. _I swear to god,_ their shared look seemed to say.

 

 

“Gon, you look like your homeless person of a father.” Mito gestures to Gon’s sleeveless tank top that only emphasizes his huge frame and trademark olive green shorts.

 

 

“Everyone’s got some terrible clothes!” Gon protests, clutching his ratty tank top protectively.

 

 

“Gon, I think the clothes I gave to Goodwill look better than your entire closet,” Killua deadpans.

 

 

“That is _not_ what you wear when you invite a friend over for dinner,” Mito backs Killua up, cornering Gon with a stern look. Killua looks down absently to check his own outfit— a navy blue shirt over a white long-sleeved, collared one, paired with khaki shorts. Mito didn’t comment on it, so Killua guesses it had passed her restrictive criteria on dinner wear.

 

 

“I bet Killua likes whatever I we—“ Gon’s smug comeback is cut off by Killua’s sneaker hitting the back of Gon’s knee, nearly sending him stumbling. Killua would _kill_ him right now if it wouldn’t cause too much paperwork— fake-flirting in the school hallways in order to embarrass Killua is one thing, but in front of Gon’s aunt is where Killua draws the line.

 

 

Gon raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. My best friend and family ganging up on me? What’s next, is Ging coming home?” Gon snorts and hurriedly presses a kiss to Mito’s cheek and fucking _winks_ at Killua before dashing up the narrow staircase, perhaps to avoid any more reprimands. Kon, perhaps annoyed at being left out of the conversation, harries up the stairs after his owner.

 

 

 _Best friend? That’s a new one,_ Killua thinks and enjoys the implication of it privately. Technically, whatever they had been doing for the past few months does qualify them for the title. Label. Whatever. He does feel like it suits them best. Yes, Killua’s healed so fast from his passing fancy, from his transient regard for Gon Freecss, that when he looks at the team captain it almost doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

 

A _crush_. That’s what it was.

 

 

And he’d turned Gon down. Killua remembers the awkward interaction only too well— his own cold reply, and Gon brushing off the rejection as easy as he could smile. Like it didn’t matter. Which it probably really didn’t. _Gon only ‘asked you out’ because he didn’t want you to get hurt anymore because of the basketball team_ , Killua reminds himself grimly. _He felt guilty and wanted to protect you. That’s it._

 

 

Now apparently they were best of friends.

 

 

Actually, Killua prefers it this way. He and Gon are much too alike and too different at the same time, overlapping pieces of a jigsaw puzzle forcibly put together. Really, Killua doesn’t know why they were even brought together. Weren’t soulmates supposed to be perfect fits?

 

 

Mito sighs in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “I swear, every wrinkle I’m bound to have is his fault. Oh, you can get one, if you like. It’s not an easy trip to get here, you must be hungry,” Mito holds out the tray of brownies.

 

 

“Um, thanks, but didn’t you say you needed help setting up? I could, uh,” Killua clears his throat uncomfortably, “help you do that. First.”

 

 

Mito’s eyes shine in silent appreciation, and Killua doesn’t have to hear the gratitude in words— it is evident in the soft smile she gives him.

 

 

“Over here,” Mito nods to the kitchen. “You’ll have a brownie when you’re done, young man, and it’s _not_ a request.”

 

 

Killua raises a hand in a ‘say-no-more’ gesture and heads for the other room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gon’s not exactly sure if slacks are too formal. They probably are. The pair in his hand go flying towards the clothes-littered bed.

 

 

He sighs as he faces the full-length mirror in his partly-new attire, consisting of a white, collared shirt not unlike Killua’s, and the same green shorts (the shade of a certain vegetable, Gon thinks). He _could_ wear mismatched outfits, since Mito’s not yet supposed to know that he’s got quite a good grasp of the color scheme, but he’d rather not have Killua look at him any more than he usually does. The thought of having those electric-blue eyes on him makes Gon feel _hot_. The shirt is maybe a bit too fitted, Gon thinks, as he pulls at the fabric on his torso self-consciously. True enough, it makes him look decent, but Gon doesn’t really care unless Killua notices. Which Gon doubts he would, given how obviously uninterested his best friend is in him in _that_ way. He _flinches_ every time Gon touches him, for Christ’s sakes, and avoids Gon’s stares and compliments. Yeah, Gon’s admittedly not a top-notcher, but he’s not so stupid that he can’t take a hint. Especially since that night at the clinic...

 

 

Whatever. He doesn’t want to dwell on it.

 

 

Gon lets out another sigh as he flops down on the heap of clothes already piled up into a mountain. Outside his window, the lampposts have lit up in defiance to the darkening skies. He’s rather disappointed to have missed the sunset. Kon seems to have followed him in a fit of insolence and is already lying in front of his bed, which he isn’t allowed to be within five feet near of. Downstairs, the gentle thrum of Mito and Killua’s voices in conversation drifts upwards and beyond the open door of Gon’s room. If he closes his eyes, he can almost see the lanky movements of Killua’s elbows and knees as he sets the plates and utensils while Mito whirls between each dish like a storm in their tiny kitchen and, suddenly aching, Gon finds himself wishing every day could be like this.

 

 

He hadn’t known it was possible to want something — no, _someone_ — this much it _hurt_. It’s unfair. Cruel. Forcing himself to face Killua almost every day just to see if his own feelings lessen for each passing second, and then bear the weight of the indisputable fact that they haven’t yet.

 

 

It’s probably his karma for liking challenges so much. Now here was one he couldn’t hope to complete.

 

 

Heart heavy, Gon picks himself up into a sitting position from the mattress, bouncing on the edge of the bed for a moment, then wills an easy smile to his face as he trudges outside of his room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sitting comfortably in one of the chairs around the table, Killua tries to remember what Gon had told him about his aunt as he glances at her back. Around 24, maybe 25. Found and lost her soulmate at a young age. Killua wonders how well/badly she’ll take the news about the both of them. _Maybe she’s harbored a grudge against all romantic relationships, and she’ll ban me from seeing Gon despite us not having any actual feelings for each other._ He snorts. _Yeah, that’d be great. For a fanfiction or movie._

 

 

Killua sighs.

 

 

Gon had wanted for Killua to meet Mito so badly, the Zoldyck heir couldn’t refuse if he wanted to.

 

 

_[We aren’t even dating, Killua had argued. (The clinic incident being so long ago, Killua actually felt comfortable enough to reference it.)_

 

 

_Yeah, but I just want Mito to meet you. I’ve finally experienced having a soulmate! Gon had remarked excitedly._

 

 

_This isn’t a competition, Killua’d berated him.]_

 

 

But he‘d agreed to go with him anyway.

 

 

It’s stupid, Killua knows, how their situation is probably being exploited to fulfill Gon’s messed-up competitiveness about everything. Personally, he’s just the tiniest bit jealous of how Gon has someone he can easily confide their situation in. For Killua, Alluka is, and will forever be, the only exception. His twelve-year-old, too-trusting sister who loves Killua unconditionally. He even plans on telling her about the colors someday. But if any of his other family members knew, he’d be locked up immediately. No point in exposing him to potential distractions. It’s not as if he couldn’t escape, though—it’s just that when he does leave, he’s got no intentions of returning. It’s too soon to invite his parents’ wrath without first finding sustainable living conditions for him and Alluka.

 

 

 _I just want to get this over with_ , he thinks irritably.

 

 

He’s already helping himself to a third brownie when Gon walks in the kitchen, and chokes on the bite of chocolate baked goodness.

 

 

Mito, noting the not-so-subtle coughing fit Killua tries to hide, fills up a glass of water and sets it in front of him, which he gulps down gratefully. “Goodness, you have to chew it first,” Mito frowns as she pats his back with gentle force, trying to dislodge the brownie stuck in Killua’s windpipe. Killua doesn’t know what’s more mortifying— Mito’s attempt at humor, or the fact that he’d literally choked on a piece of food in front of Gon who was currently looking like he’d stepped out of a photoshoot.

 

 

“Killua, are you okay?” There’s movement, and suddenly a pair of worried eyes are beside him and _Gon is way too close_.

 

 

“I’m— _fine_ ,” Killua wheezes, leaning away. _Since when did he have clothes like that?_ A tight-fitting polo shirt accentuating his toned figure, contrasting deliciously with the warmth of his skin, and the same shorts. Killua’s only ever seen Gon in school uniform and the standard varsity attire, but the sight of his friend in anything other than the usual already has his mouth dry and his pulse accelerating in excitement.

 

 

_I’m a terrible best friend._

 

 

Gon leans up and away as well but continues to look at Killua warily as he reaches over and plops a brownie into his mouth. Mito gives him a once-over before nodding in approval and turning back to her plaiting the dishes.

 

 

“Thish ish reallngy ngood,” Gon says to Mito’s back around a mouthful of chocolate. He grabs a carton of milk from the fridge and drinks from it on the spot.

 

 

Killua’s still staring.

 

 

“What?” Gon raises an eyebrow and wipes his mouth with his forearm, much to Mito’s chagrin.

 

 

Killua shrugs casually, pulse too fast and distracting, picking at the linen tablecloth. “You clean up nice.”

 

 

The surprised laugh Killua draws out of Gon is more than enough to make his heart burst with something foreign and warm.

 

 

“I— um. You. Yes.” Gon lowers the milk carton thoughtfully, eyes anywhere else but on the boy sitting in their dining area/kitchen. He finally takes a seat closest to Killua’s left, making sure to leave an ample amount of space between them.

 

 

Killua stifles a snort at Gon’s stuttered reply, relishing the way the confident team captain bumbles for a moment. Their moment is cut short by Mito swiftly placing food-filled plates in front of each of them, but Killua finds it a rather pleasant interruption because Gon’s stories don’t do _justice_ to Mito’s cooking.

 

 

A whole roast chicken, plump and crisp-looking, a variety of side dishes with vegatables and some strange pasta sprinkled with sesame seeds, and assorted pies and pastries and the tray of half-eaten brownies. They look good but taste _heavenly_ , Killua finds out as he’s already taken a large bite of his portion of honey-roast poultry. And all of these done in half a day? Gon’s aunt could seriously replace the entire kitchen staff in the Zoldyck Manor. Mito finally takes her seat at Killua’s right (ignoring Killua’s protests of being placed at the head seat since he was the guest after all), apron removed and hair smoothed back. He’s about to take another greedy mouthful when he notices Gon and Mito not digging into the feast laid in front of them. Puzzled, Killua slowly sets down his fork, tilts his head and stares at their folded hands and closed eyes and silence. Gon winks one eye open and offers him a grin and gestures for Killua to do the same. Killua’s eyes widen in understanding.

 

 

_Oh. Thanksgiving._

 

 

His family never does this. No, no one in the corporate world where they were brought up in ever thanks someone up there for anything, safe in the assumption that their assets are self-acquired. And he’s not sure— it might’ve been Gon’s soft smile or the haze of the warmth of the tiny kitchen, but something makes Killua think there‘s definitely something to be grateful for. Killua hesitantly bows his head and puts both palms together. Gon’s smile widens and lowers his head as well.

 

 

 _Thank you, whoever’s up there,_ Killua thinks, _for everything in front of me._ He steals a glance at Gon seated adjacent to him. _And beside me._

 

 

“Thank you for the meal!”

 

 

As they pick up their utensils, Gon and Killua eye each other nervously. Killua shakes his head minutely. _Wait_. They’d rehearsed this after all, and Killua’s not about to waste the script he wrote andpurposely made Gon commit to memory.

 

 

Gon narrows his eyes in defiance. The _bastard_. Killua matches it with a glare of his own. Finding your soulmate so suddenly and so conveniently is something you gradually ease into a conversation, not something you spring up on said soulmate’s aunt while she takes a sip of iced tea. What else would be the point of this dinner?

 

 

“Killua.” Mito surprises the both of them by suddenly turning to him, head drooped forwards in a humble bow. “Thank you for taking good care of him.”

 

 

Killua feels his cheeks heat up as the rice catches in his throat. He swallows hard. He hasn’t even done anything remotely good yet to deserve Mito’s gratitude. “It’s— I didn’t do anything,” he mutters embarrassedly, wiping his mouth delicately with a napkin.

 

 

“No need to pretend— I’ve heard all about the trouble his teammates gave you,” Mito punctuates this sentence with a glare at Gon.

 

 

“Hey, I wasn’t part of it,” Gon raises his hands defensively (and guiltily, Killua smugly notes). Gon notices Killua’s raised eyebrow and adds— “and I said sorry.”

 

 

“What kind of a team captain can’t get his team in order?” Mito says incredulously in a tone suggesting they’ve had this argument before.

 

 

“It’s nothing,” Killua quickly interjects before Gon could retort and lengthen the household fighting. “Really. Who else would look out for this idi— I mean, Gon?”

 

 

“Exactly,” Mito agrees. “Leorio could, but goodness, he’s already done enough of that for the last two years. You’d get into fights every day in junior high, remember?”

 

 

“Yeah,” Gon cringes, “not exactly easy to forget.”

 

 

Killua gives him a surprised look. Gon catches it.

 

 

“What? I did it for fun, no big reason,” Gon shrugs.

 

 

Some people have hobbies. His soulmate gets into fights for fun. Killua shakes his head and shovels more food in his mouth, but the tell-tale sign of amusement tugs at the corner of his lips.

 

 

“Because of _fun_ , I can’t even count how many times you got sent to Mr. Netero’s office.” Mito shakes a spoon at her nephew threateningly. “You’re lucky you got into basketball at that age.”

 

 

Killua doesn’t miss the involuntary glance Gon gives at his own scarred arms and knuckles.

 

 

Well. That’s one of Killua’s suspicions confirmed.

 

 

 _Gangster Gon would be a bad nickname,_ Killua muses. _On the other hand, it’s a pretty good stripper name._

 

 

“You mean you _made_ me play a sport,” Gon playfully retorts and rolls his eyes.

 

 

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point, sweet. Leorio isn’t always going to be there to stitch you up every time you get into a fight,” Mito continues scolding, “he has to upgrade to a hospital sometime.”

 

 

“Nah, he won’t. I think he’s in love with Kurapika,” Gon casually comments as he cuts into his chicken.

 

 

“Mr. Kurta?” Mito’s eyes widen. “That nice young librarian at your school? They don’t make a good pair, don’t you think? I mean, they’re exact opposites!”

 

 

“If they were, they wouldn’t be sleeping together,” Gon mutters. Now Killua really _does_ choke. Again. He’s pretty sure Gon or any person is legally not allowed to mention _that_ during dinner. Or ever.

 

 

“Gon!” Mito’s utensils clang noisily on her plate. Killua braces himself for her reprimand but all that follows is— “Where did you hear that?”

 

 

The two Freecss chat, oblivious to Killua’s distress. He’d much rather eat toenails than hear about the old man’s sex life. He focuses on his food instead as Mito indulges in gossip for a few minutes.

 

 

“Hey, Aunt Mito?” Gon suddenly cuts in. Killua recognizes that tone. _Oh no._

 

 

Killua swiftly delivers a kick to his left. Gon doesn’t even bat an eye as Killua’s sneaker hits his kneecap.

 

 

“Mm?” Mito raises an eyebrow curiously at the commotion.

 

 

“I— we have something to say,” and turning his head to Killua’s side he gives him a glare which probably meant _Killua stop it I swear I’ll touch you and make you see green._ Gon’s undelivered threat makes Killua still immediately in his attempts to poke a bruise in Gon’s side. _Cheater_ , Killua mouths angrily. Ever since Killua’d expressed his profound dislike for the distracting process of acquiring new colors in his vision, Gon had filed it away somewhere in his inscrutable mind for reference, and used it as blackmail almost every chance he got.

 

 

 _He’s really going through with this,_ Killua gives up and frustratedly picks at a boiled potato instead. _If he messes up, I’ll kill him._

 

 

“Um, okay?” Mito nods in confused agreement and settles her fork down, turning all her attention towards the pair.

 

 

“It’s— it’s about me. And Killua.” Gon’s voice carries an undeterred confidence, but Killua knows better as he looks at brown fingers fidgeting nervously under the table.

 

 

“Oh, is it about you two being soulmates?” 

 

 

Killua’s vaguely aware that he’s dropped his knife. Gon seems to have stopped breathing as well, turning an unbecoming shade of Zoldyck hair-white.

 

 

Mito chuckles as she bends down to retrieve Killua’s fallen silverware. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

 

 

 _Obviously_ , Killua thinks in amazement. At the same time Gon chokes out—

 

 

“How?”

 

 

“Well, a few weeks ago you told me you wanted your curtains changed because the yellow was starting to fade.” Mito places the knife back next to Killua’s plate after gently wiping it. “I never told you what color they were.”

 

 

“I might’ve read it from the packaging,” Gon weakly protests.

 

 

“I didn’t buy it, sweet. I made them myself from cloths that the Fukuzawas gifted us last Christmas.“

 

 

“Oh.”

 

 

Gon and Killua could only gawk as Mito uncovered their charade with the simplest air of nonchalance. _Not stupid,_ Killua glares at Gon, _but your nephew might just be._

 

 

"Wait, but how did you— I mean, Mito-san, I didn't tell you who my soulmate is," Gon frantically runs his fingers through his already-wild spikes of hair. 

 

 

"You just confirmed it ten seconds ago," Mito reminds him. "True, I guessed as much when you couldn't stop talking about—" Mito's gaze cuts to Killua then, "— but we've already gone past that. Call it a hunch."

 

 

Killua wishes he could disappear right there and then. Way to lighten up an introductory dinner.

 

 

Gon nervously mouths ‘ _i’m sorry’_ in his best friend’s direction. “You’re not, uh, mad?” Gon says in a hesitant voice. 

 

 

“Why would I be?” Mito shakes her head. “I just wish you could’ve told me sooner. Eat your rice, it’s getting cold.”

 

 

And that seems to be the end of the discussion, but Killua recognizes the underlying meaning in the phrase as _“we’ll talk later”_. Gon doesn’t seem to catch it, as he goes back to eating with visible relief.

 

 

Somehow, Killua doesn’t think Gon’ll be the one Mito’s going to talk to.

 

 

They finish the rest of the meal, occasionally dabbling in light, easy conversation revolving around school and basketball. The nervousness in Killua’s stomach is clenching and unclenching, sourness in the back of his throat rising. The food doesn’t look so appetizing anymore. Gon immediately jumps up and gathers the plates, followed by a promise to wash and clean up.

 

 

“I’ll—“ Killua tries to offer help and is already halfway up out of his seat but is stopped by a gentle tap on his shoulder. He tries not to visibly flinch at the contact. 

 

 

“Keep me company in the living area for a while, is that okay? I usually talk to Gon when I knit.” It’s not even a choice. Mito’s expression is calm and unreadable and it has Killua scared and wanting to run. The only times he’s ever been shown gentleness are immediately followed by harsh blows and sharper words, but Killua reminds himself that _this is not his family._

 

 

“‘Kay,” Killua shrugs casually, catching Gon’s eye as the pair make their way out of the kitchen. Stray soap bubbles already on his face, Gon gives him a smile that’s as nervous as Killua feels. Not much help.

 

 

“How unusual,” Mito laughs as she takes a seat. “Gon hates chores. Oh, please, sit anywhere you like.”

 

 

Killua opts for the couch. “So, uh,” he coughs awkwardly.

 

 

“Is there any particular reason why Gon looks like a beaten person?” Mito asks softly, softer than the sound of dishes splashing in frothy water from the kitchen, that Killua almost doesn’t hear it.

 

 

“I— I don’t—“ _Understand_ , Killua can’t finish. But he does. And Mito knows it. It’s ridiculous, really, how well this woman he’s barely spent two hours with sees through Killua like the barriers he’d put up there were nothing at all.

 

 

“You love him.” Mito is ruthless and straightforward, each uttered word like a blow.

 

 

“I—“ Killua’s words are stuck in his throat, flower petals in their softness.

 

 

“But not in that way,” Mito finishes for him.

 

 

 _I don’t want to._ Killua closes his mouth tightly and nods, chest heavy and light at the same time.

 

 

“I get it,” Mito shifts in her seat, voice suddenly tired and a hundred years older. “Does he know?”

 

 

“I think so.” For all his clipped words and replies, Killua’s amazed at the rate of their conversation, fluid and moving.

 

 

“Good.” Mito sighs as she kneels to pick up a ball of wool from the basket at her feet. “That’s good.”

 

 

“He doesn’t even like me. That way, I mean,” Killua adds hurriedly, almost to himself. _Why does it sound like I’m convincing myself?_

 

 

“Then why does he look so sad when he thinks I can’t see him?” Mito looks at Killua directly in the eye then, as if drawing out an honest answer from the recesses of his soul. Killua looks away uncomfortably.

 

 

 _Gon? Sad? Doesn’t look like it. If he is, he hides it well. But why else would he be sad, unless..._ Despite himself, Killua feels the beginnings of doubt start to creep in his mind.

 

 

“I— I’m not sure. He’s probably just bummed out that he didn’t get to tell you about _it_ , I mean _us_ , before you found out yourself.” Killua feels his nails digging so hard into the soft flesh of his palm that they cut thin red lines that flow across the lines of his skin, along with all of his unspoken uncertainties. His answer is so stupid and so obviously fabricated that it hurts for him to hear it out loud. From the look she gives him, he knows Mito can tell he doesn’t believe it either.

 

 

“Is that what you think?” Mito raises an eyebrow, eyes crinkled in knowing amusement.

 

 

Killua shrugs. “Guess so.”

 

 

“Hm,” Mito hums.

 

 

Quiet settles in the room as Mito knits, hands moving in perfect synchronization, while Killua furiously worries. It’s _too quiet_. Mito’s gaze never leaves her lap. _What just happened oh god will she actually hate me now—_

 

 

“I’m not angry, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mito smiles at her knitting but her words reach Killua’s ears. “It’s alright.“

 

 

But it’s not, and Killua knows this. He’s Googled this at least once before, but he doesn’t need the Internet to confirm that less than 2% of the world’s population have been found not wanting to conform to the idea of soulmates or something pre-determined. It isn’t illegal to not want to be with your soulmate, but it’s not usual, either. He appreciates Mito pretending it is, though.

 

 

“I won’t tell your family. You don’t have to be afraid.”

 

 

Pride ruffles Killua’s feathers before gratitude can even settle. “I’m not afraid.” His response is but childish indignation, horrified at how fast the woman’s caught up to his thoughts.

 

 

The kind look Mito gives him says more than a reproach ever could. “Alright.”

 

 

Silence.

 

 

“Gon’s told you about it, hasn’t he? How I lost my own soulmate?” The fact that Mito can say the sentence with so straight a face impresses Killua, like the words don’t cut a thousand razor blades on her tongue.

 

 

“Yeah, uh,” Killua mumbles, “he did. I’m sorry.”

 

 

More silence. Until—

 

 

“What do they look like?”

 

 

Killua isn’t sure he heard right.

 

 

“The colors.” Mito raises her voice just above a whisper, as if afraid for her words to be taken away for being too loud. “What...” she clears her throat once more.

 

 

“I can’t ask Gon, it’d make him sad. Please. I’d forgotten—“

 

 

The broken sentence tears Killua’s heart. He looks at Mito, completely focused on her knitting despite her vulnerable request. Killua’s never held so much responsibility in a response, and it’s a long time before he finally figures out what to say.

 

 

“Gon has your eyes.”

 

 

It’s not an answer, really, but the sudden wetness of Mito’s eyes could be attributed to it. Her trembling hands stop their steadfast work.

 

 

“Like his father’s,” Mito muses. “And our great-grandmother’s. I’ve never really seen Gon’s eyes, only read it on his birth certificate.”

 

 

“The sun,” Killua blurts out suddenly.

 

 

“The sun?” Mito frowns.

 

 

“That’s— that’s what Gon’s eyes look like.” He could bite his tongue off— what kind of weirdo would say that? Killua’s blushing furiously now, he doesn’t even have to look in a mirror to know his face is alight in fiery streaks of angry red. “Sometimes. I don’t know. It’s stupid, never mind.”

 

 

He should really shut up. Adding words wasn’t going to remedy the embarrassment.

 

 

“Thank you,” Mito suddenly, quietly says.She gazes a little dreamily at the ceiling. “Yes. They were beautiful. I loved the way they looked in the light. My eyes. I’m sorry, it’s little conceited, I know,” Mito chuckles and touches a hand to her face, lost in reminiscence. “But remembering’s about all I can do now.”

 

 

 _They still look beautiful,_ Killua wants to say. Beautiful and sharp and sad. But the words are unfamiliar to his mouth and he doesn’t know how to say them. So he keeps quiet until Mito starts a stream of pleasant conversation Killua finds himself slowly being drawn into. He catches a few words about school and he faintly hears himself answering, but the rhythmic sound of wind weaving through the wind chimes is distracting in a way that makes his eyes flutter shut.

 

It’s late, the fireplace is warm, the chair is just the right amount of cozy, and the good food still fills his belly, so Killua blames it on all of those when he dozes off in the middle of Mito’s anecdote about the time Gon tried to catch a fish bigger than a house.

 

* * *

 

 

“Killua. Killua, hey, wake up.”

 

 

Killua’s eyes open blearily with the weight of sleep crusted around their corners. Gross. Disoriented for a brief moment, he shifts around his seat with much difficulty due to a — what was a _blanket_ doing around his shoulders?

 

 

He blinks again. There’s a face in front of him now. Freckles and brown skin and white teeth that seem to glow in the low, smoldering light of the flames in the fireplace.

 

 

Killua flails in a rather undignified manner before recognizing the face’s familiar features.

 

 

"Gon! Where— _shit_ , I dozed off?" Killua groans, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Mito— I mean, your aunt, gotta... gotta be sorry—" 

 

 

"Shh, it's okay," Gon laughs gently, tucking the blanket further around Killua's shoulders. Killua forgets how to breathe for a second as Gon's fingers linger near his face but not touching skin. "She just went to make coffee after grabbing this blanket for you, although it _is_ pretty late."

 

 

"Late?" Killua echoes and glances at the grandfather clock situated near the stairs. It read a quarter past nine. Illumi was _so_ going to kill him.  "Goddammit." 

 

 

"Sorry, Killua," Gon stands straight and rubs at the back of his neck. "I would've woken you earlier, but Mito told me to let you sleep since you looked really exhausted. Besides, Killua looks cute like that, when he's not glaring— and there it goes. Shame." 

 

 

"I'm going to kill you," Killua mutters, indeed scowling, caught off-guard. "Ugh. How'm I gonna get home?"

 

 

"I could walk you," Gon suggests immediately. 

 

 

"No way, dumbass. It takes thirty minutes by _car_ to get to my house from here." 

 

 

"Is that a challenge?" Gon asks excitedly. 

 

 

"Forget it," Killua shakes his head. 

 

 

"You could always spend the night," Gon says casually. 

 

 

"No," Killua replies after a stunned beat. But Gon had noticed his hesitance and picked up on it almost immediately. 

 

 

"Come on, Killua. I bet your parents at least let you do sleep-overs." 

 

 

"Overnight allowances," Killua automatically corrects him, "and it's only when I have to work on a group project."

 

 

"I'll make one up." Gon's seems determined to make him stay as he kneels in front of him again, hands resting on either side of the armrest, and it flips Killua's stomach upside down. "Anyway, it's safer for you." 

 

 

Right. Friends look out for each other. 

 

 

"I— I don't even have a change of clothes!" Killua protests weakly.

 

 

"We're about the same size, so..." Gon scratches at his nape. _Is Gon implying what Killua thinks he's implying? Clothes sharing? What are they, five?_

 

 

"Please, Killua?" Gon leans even closer, mouth pulled tight in a worried line. Killua groans inwardly. Is he ever going to be able to refuse this idiot? Besides, he doesn't want to trouble Gotoh any more by making him precariously drive all the way here in the middle of the night, although any Zoldyck butler would be capable of such a feat. He sighs and reaches for his phone in his pocket, typing away. 

 

 

"We're doing our final performance task in Physics, calculating for the equivalent capacitance of the given resistors, if anyone asks," Killua mutters as the words imprint themselves on his smartphone's screen, pale fingers flying across the virtual keypad. "Alright?" 

 

 

"Physics, huh?" Gon grins, sitting on his haunches and leaning back on his hands. "It's a great privilege to be taught by one of the honor students in class." Killua starts to protest but Gon cuts him off. "You can't even try to hide how smart you are, Killua. Doing college-level worksheets individually, when they should be done in pairs, is already a giveaway. Especially when you get higher scores than the rest of the class who do the worksheets in groups." 

 

 

"You can stop bullshitting me, I'm already staying the night." Killua kicks at Gon's knees feebly, tiredly. "Where should I sleep, anyway?"

 

 

"Gon has a spare mattress upstairs," a voice calls out from the kitchen. Mito re-enters the living room carrying a tray with ceramic cups and a coffee pot, which she sets down carefully on the small table in front of Killua. "He can sleep on it. _You_ can sleep on the bed, Killua." 

 

 

"I— uh, it's alright. I'll take the spare room," Killua says. He's most certainly not wary about sleeping in a room with his attractive soulmate, thank you very much. 

 

 

Killua's embarrassment makes his ears grow even hotter when Mito says in a quiet voice, "We— we don't have a spare room, but if you really prefer to be alone, you can sleep in my room, and I'll take the—"

 

 

"No, I'm sorry," Killua rushes, "I'll take the couch. You've already done a lot by letting me stay here, thank you. I really appreciate it." Killua hopes his gratitude can be conveyed through those sentences, and that his stupid, earlier mistake can be let go. What was he thinking, Gon having a spare room? _I really am just a dumb, rich kid after all,_ Killua thinks, ashamed. 

 

 

"Killua, no," Gon says sternly. "You're either sleeping in my bed, or I'm staying here with you."

 

 

"Gon, you—" Killua splutters.

 

 

"I'll count to three and if you haven't moved by then, I'll carry you."

 

 

"You wouldn't—" _With his aunt in the room? Seriously?_

 

 

"One. Room's on the left, first one on top of the stairs." 

 

 

"I—"

 

 

"Two."

 

 

" _Fine_ ," Killua growls, pulling the blanket around his shoulders, and marches upstairs. He feels, rather than sees, Gon's quiet laughter and Mito's amused stare at his back as the two boys make their way up. Honestly. "Good night," Mito calls out. Killua grunts and waves without turning back while Gon yells out a 'good night' about several decibels louder. 

 

 

Gon's room is too dark to make out, but Killua's eyes immediately sharpen in the dark, and slowly, things start to take shape. A bed, maybe queen-sized, fairly large, is stationed at the center. A desk with cluttered stuff is positioned in front of an open window, white curtains (true to Gon's word, they were starting to look yellowish) fluttering from the breath of night air. School uniforms hang from the back of the door. Posters with details too little to see are plastered on the wall above the bed. Killua immediately flops down on the bed as soon as the door is shut. Gon's comforter is soft and warm somehow, and smells of laundry and sleep. He gets a few seconds of rest, but of course Gon also has to ruin that for him.

 

 

"Killua. Hey. You gotta change clothes first, c'mon." Gon nudges his side carefully. 

 

 

"Don't wanna," Killua mumbles into the bed. _Soft,_ he thinks _. Everything is so soft_. 

 

 

"You can't sleep in your day clothes, Killua," Gon says, obviously trying to suppress laughter. "I've got a few shirts—"

 

 

"Too lazy," Killua interrupts him. 

 

 

"Fine," Gon sighs in resignation. "At least take off your shorts."

 

 

A pause, and then— "What?" Killua chokes out. 

 

 

"Your shorts, Killua," Gon raises an eyebrow and gestures to them, "I'll get you a pair of pajamas instead."

 

 

"Oh," Killua looks down. He hesitates for a second before shimmying off the pair. It's not like undressing in front of the other's anything new in their friendship. Gon goes shirtless during basketball practice. They've seen each other at the locker room. And Gon bandaged Killua's ribs once. To hell with being embarrassed, Killua's too tired for anything right now. He throws his shorts at Gon, who catches it without changing expressions. Gon turns his back to rummage through the closet. Killua tries not to stare at the muscles in Gon's back flexing as he reaches for something acceptable for Killua to wear. 

 

 

The cool night air feels good on Killua's skin, and suddenly he's itching to remove his shirt as well. The stiff collar's starting to become uncomfortable, so he pulls it off of his torso in one fluid motion. He stretches his arms contentedly above his head in a yawn. His discarded clothes are messily put over the back of a chair.

 

 

Just then, Gon whips back around, gray shorts and shirt in one hand, colorless in the moonlight. "You can have this shirt, too, in case— " Gon stops abruptly and _stares_. Killua's blood runs _hot_ as he catches the flicker in Gon's dark eyes, and it's not surprise or shock at all at having Killua being half-naked in front of him—  it's _hunger_. Deep and primal and barely there in the once-over Gon gives him, but it's _there_ , alright. Killua reigns in a shiver as Gon's glance slides down to his toned stomach and south... and then the hunger dissipates just as quickly as it crosses Gon's face, carefully neutral expression back in place, as if seeing his best friend in only boxer shirts was routine. 

 

 

"I usually sleep shirtless," Killua grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't know why he has to explain himself. 

 

 

"Here, it gets cold at dawn." Gon throws the shirt and shorts at Killua, shaking his head. Killua, suddenly self-conscious, quietly puts on both articles of clothing. It feels like a slap, the forced casualness does. Maybe the hunger he'd seen wasn't there after all; Gon couldn't act this well to hide it. Killua climbs back onto the bed, not pulling up the sheets because he feels it would be too intimate, having blankets that had touched Gon probably _everywhere_ touch his own skin in turn. His overthinking is cut short by the sight of Gon stripping off his own shirt.

 

 

Killua's mouth goes unnecessarily dry as he drinks in the sight of the team captain's form— lean, smooth, and warm, even in the dark. A desperate curl of _want_ ignites in Killua's belly and he forces it down with a sickly feeling of horror. _What the fuck was that?_ Killua glances at Gon peripherally as the other boy exchanges his boxer shorts for— 

 

 

"Oi, this isn't a strip show, Freecss," Killua hisses, looking away pointedly as the other boy puts on a fresh pair of underwear.

 

 

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," Gon says with a hint of amusement coloring his voice. Facing the wall, Killua feels like the hotness in his cheeks could kill him any minute now. He hears something flop on the ground, some rustling, and then a sigh, which Killua interprets as a signal that it was safe to look around again.  His gaze lands on a still very-much-shirtless Gon on the futon below him, one arm under his head, scratching absentmindedly at his stomach. Of _course_ his boxers would be dark green.   

 

 

"So I'm not allowed to sleep without a shirt, but _you_ are?" Killua asks dully, rolling to his side to hear Gon's reply. 

 

 

"I tend to run hot," Gon grins sheepishly up at him. From their positions, Killua could easily drop his hand, and it would touch Gon's side, touch his ribs and strong chest and the spaces between them, somewhere his colorless hand could never dream to graze. Hypothetically, of course. Killua clutches his hand closer to his chest. Just in case. 

 

 

"Zushi's invited us to his birthday party, by the way," Gon says, seemingly to the ceiling. 

 

 

"You mean he invited _you_ ," Killua rolls his eyes. 

 

 

"He actually told me to tell you to come, since you helped him out in General Chemistry and all."

 

 

"I just gave him the correct answer."

 

 

"In a graded recitation," Gon says flatly. "You're actually really nic—"

 

 

"Isn't eighteen years old too old to be throwing parties?"

 

 

"There's free food."

 

 

"Now _that's_ interesting," Killua suddenly sits up half-way to look at him, but flops back onto the bed just as quickly. "Ugh. But there'll be drunk people being idiots and making out. No thanks."

 

 

"Making out isn't just what people do at parties, Killua," Gon sits up excitedly, now face-level with Killua lying on the bed. "I mean, it's part of it, but really— "

 

 

"No. If I wanted to watch porn, I would go through Milluki's hard drive. Really kinky shit on there."

 

 

"Haven't you ever kissed anyone before?" Gon asks bluntly. 

 

 

"What makes you ask that?" Killua replies indignantly, not quite answering the question, because he'd _die_ first before he admits he hasn't kissed more than two or three people, and none at all in the past year.

 

 

"I dunno, it just seems to really bother you," Gon says thoughtfully. Killua shrugs. 

 

 

"Oh my god. You haven't, have you?" Gon perks up, catching on to Killua's reluctance to answer. 

 

 

"I _have._ " Killua retorts in a near-shout, then winces at the loudness, at his own defensiveness, and he reiterates in a low voice— "I've made out with people. Couple of times. Can you just shut up about it?" Killua groans and rubs a hand across his tired face. It's almost 11, and all they've done is bicker. He can't believe he's let himself get into a verbal fight with the most stubborn person in the world. 

 

 

"I've actually never kissed anyone before." Gon's blunt admission has Killua's eyes shooting open and his limbs propping him up in a sitting position, now facing the other boy shrouded in moonlight and shadow. 

 

 

"But you—  you've had _sex_ with other people, Gon," Killua says slowly, as if explaining a complication to a child. There was the usual whisper or two about the team captain's sex life. "I don't believe y—"

 

 

"Is _that_ what people are saying these days?" Gon snorts. "I've only ever done it with Retz. The others, well, were just failed dates." 

 

 

Retz. English Lit. Slim, petite. Cornsilk hair and glass eyes. _Pretty,_ Killua remembers. There's something uncomfortable and angry twisting in his chest, something he'd briefly felt before but never really indulged in, barely bothered to name it, rare as it occurs. Had those long, white legs wrapped around Gon's back too? Nails slicing the supple flesh there into brown ribbons? High chants of his friend's name, falling from open, rose-petal lips? Had her tongue delved just under Gon's ear, tasting the heat of his skin? He's— 

 

 

 _jealous_. His chest hurts as the feeling gains a new name. He's jealous of Gon's previous partner, at the prospect of tapered hands other than his touch hard muscle, their sweat and release sticking harshly to each other. Something akin to cold fury passes through his spine, and Killua wonders why he'd only felt this _now_ of all times— 

 

 

"Killua?" Gon asks curiously. _Right. A conversation,_ Killua thinks. _We were having a conversation_. 

 

 

"But how could you do that— I mean, without— yanno—" Killua tries and fails to articulate as Gon laughs at his fumbling. 

 

 

"There's no rule saying you have to kiss someone before you fuck them," Gon says casually. Killua gapes at him, open-mouthed. He's never heard anything harsher than _'damn'_ leaving the team captain's lips, and damn him indeed if Gon saying obscenities so easily wasn't turning him on just the tiniest bit. Killua doesn't even grace that with an answer, just stares at the hulking figure in front of him. 

 

 

"Who knew Killua Zoldyck was such a prude?" In the darkness, Killua could barely make out Gon's smirk, but he memorizes it as well as if it had been daylight. 

 

 

"I'm not—" Killua snaps, then flushes hotly just as Gon moved with incredible agility to lessen the distance between them, hands on either side of Killua's propped arms, half on the bed, half kneeling on the futon. In the dim light, he recognizes the scars weaving their way up and around Gon's wrists and knuckles, wonders if they're as rough as they look. Killua had never wanted to touch someone so badly before this. 

 

 

"Prude," Gon confirms, smile wide and bright, doing funny things to Killua's stomach. Warm breath fanning Killua's face, sending his bangs fluttering. Everything's spiraling downwards, making Killua think of that nursery rhyme—  _London Bridge is falling down, and the sun is falling down, and I am falling down._  Eyes wide, delirium running in his veins, heartbeat screaming in his ears, Killua glances at the door once to make sure it's shut, before finally, _finally_ leaning forward to smash his mouth against Gon's. 

 

 

Killua almost forgets how to breathe because Gon doesn't even wait for a _second_ before kissing back, twice as fierce, their first physical contact all day.

 

 

Gon moans into Killua's mouth, low and hungry in his throat, large hands moving from their perch on the bed up to Killua's shoulders, forcing him to lie down on his back, surrounding him like a dream. Like he's not the only who's waited for this for a long, long time. Like he knew he wanted this before even Killua realized he'd _needed_ this. And _oh_ — the colors. The colors are every where. The colors are _everything_. Killua's got his eyes scrunched up tightly, but somehow firework-bursts of intense hues appear behind his eyelids, painting the picture of Gon's form hovering over him, deliciously undone. _It's too much, too much, he can't even name the colors anymore_. Lust and something more span the width of Gon's mouth as he nips at Killua's neck. Killua's own whines have stopped in favor of letting Gon's name spill out from his panting, suddenly not caring that Mito would hear them, fuck that, because Gon's _grinding_ against him, rutting him onto the bed like some _damn_ animal and it feels _so_ — 

  

 

A needy sob is pulled from Killua's throat as Gon's hands and mouth are suddenly, cruelly ripped away, cold air replacing the blank spaces. 

 

 

Killua's own arms have dropped uselessly to the sides, knees still bent and open. He hadn't even realized he'd wrapped those same legs around Gon's waist, clinging to him like a lifeline. His frantic gaze darts to Gon, who's taken on a sitting position at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily and sober once more. The distance between them feels larger than an ocean, instead of just an arm's reach away. It hurts like _shit_ , but Gon's carefully blank expression pisses Killua off more than it should have, like the team captain hadn't felt that intense surge of desire just a few seconds ago and reciprocated it. It has Killua's mouth opening in a snarl to say something, anything, when—

 

 

"Why did you kiss me, Killua?" 

 

 

In contrast to his neutral face, Gon's voice is on the verge of falling apart. 

 

 

"You kissed me back," Killua breathes. An accusation, not an answer. 

 

 

In lieu of gracing that with a reply, Gon stands up and shakes his head. _That's not fair,_ Killua wants to scream. He doesn't even know why he did it, just knew that he had to, or he would've, could've, possibly died from desperation if he hadn't. Died from frustration at not closing the gaps between their mouths when he had the chance to taste him. _Finally_ taste him. 

 

 

"Where—" Killua whispers. 

 

 

"Downstairs. I'm gonna sleep on the couch." Gon's actions are deliberate and careful once more, without any of the vulnerability he'd shown in bed a few moments ago. Killua watches in silence as he picks up his pillow and sheets from the futon on the ground and makes his way to the door. Before Gon could reach for the doorknob, though, Killua plucks the courage to speak up—

 

 

"I— wait. Gon. If you want, we could pretend this never happened. It's my fault." Killua adds that last part reluctantly; he's pretty sure he's not the only who'd shown lack of self-control tonight. But picking a fight about it now doesn't seem like the best course. He's not about to apologize, either, for doing something he can't even explain what for. 

 

 

"Is that what you want?" Gon asks, leaning against the door frame and staring at him, bedding in his folded arms. Killua shrugs, feigning nonchalance, ignoring the weird feeling of something overflowing from his chest, hot and making his eyes prick uncomfortably. Gon stares at him for a while longer, biting his bottom lip. _His bottom lip which had been between Killua's teeth a few minutes ago._ He finally sighs, relenting. "Okay. Yeah." Gon swings the door open.

 

 

"Wait," Killua calls out once more. Gon stops and looks at him, something like hope flashing in his gaze, although it really is too dark for Killua to make out clearly. 

 

 

"Is— are we, uh, okay?" Killua cringes at the sound of his voice, so needy and childish, but he doesn't have any other way to phrase it, and the reality of losing his and Gon's friendship to a stupid, miscalculated action is almost unbearable. He's afraid of losing Gon, and the same time, terrified that he's let someone get so close to him in so short a time. But he can't say these things; rather, he doesn't have the words to. And just what would his family say? 

 

 

 _Weak_ , Illumi's voice echoes. But if this is weakness, Killua's not so sure that he minds. At least he gets to feel something. The pit of worry in Killua's stomach grows a little shallower when something akin to a smile passes Gon's face. 

 

 

"Yeah. We're okay, Killua." 

 

 

And Killua believes him, that boy standing in the door way, half in and half out of the shadows. He allows a small nod of his own head in reply. Gon finally reaches behind him to close the door. The footsteps outside grow fainter as Gon moves downstairs, but they resonate in Killua's ears. Without Gon's furnace of a presence, the room seems suddenly twice as chilly, and Killua's glad he didn't sleep shirtless after all. He lays back down on the bed and counts, instead of sheep, the warm points where Gon's touches have made their mark on his body. 

 

 

_One, two, three... fifteen, sixteen..._

 

 

Killua falls into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i waited so LONG to write that, my hands are itching. i got a little poetic at the end, forgive me. ok so I wanted Killua to maintain some dignity here and also show his being prideful in untimely situations which, i think, makes him a lil more human and relatable. also, cue Killua not knowing which emotions are which, and how 2 name them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm, yeah, I don’t really know why the old neighbors talk with a southern accent.
> 
> The next chapter picks up right after where this one ends.


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